


Call of the Dragonborn

by SnowElfDragon95



Series: Isilmé of the Snow [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowElfDragon95/pseuds/SnowElfDragon95
Summary: After releasing Kodlak from lycanthropy, the late Harbinger warns Isilmé of an even greater threat. Alduin the World Eater has returned and she must face him if life is to continue on Nirn. Still reeling from the revealations she recieved about her heritage and the grief of saying farewell to Kodlak, Isilmé is struggling to just remain sane. Will she succeed in defeating the World Eater or will she fall by the wayside?
Relationships: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Brynjolf/Female Khajiit Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero (Elder Scrolls)/Original Male Character(s), Cicero/Listener (Elder Scrolls), Cicero/Male Listener (Elder Scrolls), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Miraak (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s)
Series: Isilmé of the Snow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673596
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Friend In Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé still struggles to wrap her head around Kodlak's last words and to complicate things, Usaeleí comes to her in dire need of help. Great, first Dragons, then Daedra, now the Dark Brotherhood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mini Usaeleí and Isilmé chapter.

Kodlak’s words still haunted her even now. Before the now lycanthropy-free Kodlak departed for Sovngarde, he left a dire message for Isilmé. One that still rattled the Dragonborn’s soul and sent fear shivering down her spine even now. 

_“Alduin, the World Eater, the Firstborn of Akatosh has returned. You must face him if all of Nirn is to survive. Only you can defeat him, Isilmé, for you are Dragonborn. The time has come, Daughter of the Snow; Child of the Hunt. Have no fear, for I have faith in you and know you can do it.”_

Isilmé the Falmer Dragonborn, now Harbinger of the Companions was continuously pacing around in her new chambers in Jorrvaskr with her hand running through her long moonlight colored hair. She had been pacing almost every night. Even hunting with Aela didn’t seem to calm her. Farkas and Vilkas could only watch helplessly as their new Harbinger paced around. They really could not blame her for her actions. She was not only Dragonborn, but she recently discovered that she was possibly the last of the Ancient Snow Elves and to top it all off, the Daughter of Hircine. The daughter of the Father of Manbeasts... _Gods, she’s going to wear a hole in the stones if she doesn’t let up,_ Farkas thought as he finally gripped the pacing elf’s shoulders to halt her pacing and she turned her gaze blankly towards him. 

“You should get some rest, Harbinger.” He said firmly as she quirked a brow at him but the yawn she had to stifle was enough for her to listen. He watched her disappear into the master chamber and once he was certain that she was in her bed, retired to his own chambers. Still, Isilmé could not sleep. She just sat on her bed running her hand through her hair anxiously. She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax and finally get some sleep. But her dreams were plagued by visions of the massive black dragon from Helgen. Perched on his tower, his ice-cold glare locked on her as he leapt down and landed before her. His neck arched back ready to strike, sparks of fire dripping from his maw. He opened his menacing jaws and the last thing she saw was a vision of fire surrounding her.

_**Thwhump!!** _

“OW! For Talos’ sake that hurt!” Isilmé growled as she tossed the blankets entwined around her from thrashing back on to the bed. She rubbed her scalp and rose to her feet, wincing from the bruise forming. She made herself look presentable before heading upstairs to the mead hall for breakfast. “Hey, ‘Sil,” Vilkas piped up and the Falmer glanced at him, “Why not go hunting with Aela? Farkas and I need to teach the new bloods how to properly hold a weapon and Tilma mentioned needing some more rabbit and fish.” Isilmé tapped her chin seeming to consider the thought. She then smiled weakly. “I think I'll do just that.” Aela smirked patting her shoulder before heading outside. After the Dragonborn finished assisting Tilma with the dishes, Isilmé met up with the Huntress who was waiting for her by the entrance. They talked as they jogged to the stables where Isilmé and Aela got Magnus saddled for their haul. Sylph snorted and pawed her stall door with her hoof. She wanted to come too!

“Alright girl. Hold on.” The Falmer chuckled as she opened the stall and climbed onto the mare’s bare back. Aela rolled her eyes and chuckled as they rode out to the plains to begin their day. It was relatively peaceful. The hunting was plentiful and Isilmé was starting to act like her old self. After a couple hours, Aela decided to head back early with their haul while the Falmer rested under a shady tree. Vilkas had the right idea and the Dragonborn inhaled the fresh scent of pine feeling a wave of tranquility wash over her. That is until she heard the thundering sounds of hooves galloping towards her. Both she and Sylph turned their heads to see a stallion as black as night and eyes as red as hot coals charging at them. Astride the beast was a familiar white Argonian and he was calling out for help. In his arms was a wounded Imperial. His mismatched eyes found the Snow Elf and called out to her once more.

“Isilmé!” He shouted as he brought the stallion to a halt before her causing Sylph to rear and snort. 

“Usaeleí! What's the matter?!” She cried out as she helped lower Cicero to the ground, “By Talos, what happened to him?! He's covered in claw marks and bite wounds!” She then turned a worried stare towards the Argonian as leapt from his mount and helped her move the wounded jester under the tree. “No, this wasn’t my doing Isilmé, thank Sithis, but Cicero got attacked one of my family members.” He said as the Falmer rushed to her knapsack to gather her water-skin and a bowl. “Was this family member a werewolf or something?” She questioned as removed the torn motley off the Imperial so that she could clean his wounds properly. Usaeleí nodded his reptilian head. “Can you help him?” The lizard pleaded, his mismatched eyes watering as he helped clean the wounds, “Please tell me you can Isilmé. I can't lose him…”

“I will do all that I can but first we need to clean these wounds.” She instructed. 

Cicero would occasionally make small pained whimpers as the damp cloths traced his open wounds. Once certain they were clean, Isilmé took a deep breath as she held her hand over the wounds. “ _Haas Sil Kogaan_ ” She whispered as sky-blue and silver light spiraled around her arm down to her hand before simmering into dust under her palm. The dust of lights scattered around the jester's wounds causing them to glow and close leaving nothing but faint scars barely visible to the eye. She sighed, proud of her word as the Argonian with great care, held the jester close to him when the Imperial opened his amber eyes weakly. “He's going to need a lot of rest,” The Elf stated as Cicero fell asleep. Once certain he was dead asleep, Isilmé looked at Usaeleí with concern. “He also needs training.” 

“What do you mean? He's already trained for our line of work.” Usaeleí tilted his head curiously. 

“Not for the Dark Brotherhood, Usaeleí. But as a werewolf.” She explained then narrowed her eyes, “Yes. He is now a wolf, Usaeleí. Even you can smell it. You’re going to have to help him with this.”

“I… can’t.” 

“What do you mean ‘You can’t’?” She inquired crossing her arms over her chest.

“Because, my family wanted me to kill him…” Usaeleí reluctantly admitted. Apparently, Cicero had gone berserk and attacked the leader of their faction and ordered Usaeleí to hunt Cicero down and end him. After discovering the damage a fellow family member had done to the Imperial, the Argonian went against that order and sought help. “Please Isilmé. I can't risk them knowing I let him live or they'll do worse to him. I know it. I swear he won't be any trouble. We talked while riding here.” Usaeleí begged through treaty eyes, “I… I can't lose my soulmate…” Isilmé lifted the Argonian’s chin and smiled weakly. 

“I’ll help Aela with training him but I fear that once he's healed he's going to search for you.” She stated softly. Usaeleí nodded. Thanking his friend, Usaeleí climbed back into his saddle and waved farewell. 

“Cicero is sorry for being a burden on the pretty Elf.” She heard the jester cough as she helped him onto Sylph. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just focus on healing you so can reunite with Usaeleí.” She smiled reassuringly. 

Aela was none to pleased to see her Harbinger return with a wounded pup but after hearing her out on the jester's story reluctantly agreed to be the crazy fool's teacher. Isilmé made it clear to the Fool though that while he was regaining his strength and training with his new condition, he was to follow her rules which meant keeping a low profile, no serious injuries to her pack and the city and above all else no murdering and bloodshed. “Usaeleí said you would behave yourself foe your Mother’s sake along with his own. Pray you do.” She finalized and the Imperial simply nodded. It was clear that he was not in any position to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah Translation
> 
> Haas Sil Kogaan- Health, Life, Bestow  
> This is a healing Shout/Spell
> 
> (Yes this is technically a Shout. No it is not Skyrim. Also spoiler alert, yes dear sweet Cicero has lycanthropy. [To be fair Arnbjorn DID do a serious number on him if you think about.


	2. The Burning Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a week and a half goes by since Isilmé brought Cicero to Jorrvaskr for his 'training'. However, unable to ignore the Greybeards' summoning, Isilmé opts to travel to High Hrothgar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. How could I NOT do another Usaeleí and Isilmé chapter? With a dash of Cicero?

While the jester recuperated and trained at Jorrvaskr for his affliction under the watchful eye of the Huntress, Isilmé was busy training the new bloods since the twins were on a job up in Dawnstar. They mentioned that were going to rid themselves of lycanthropy. Though this made Aela a bit resentful towards them, Isilmé understood and reminded the Huntress that it was their decisions. As she watched and tutored the two Bosmer and two Nords, the Dragonborn was interrupted by a courier who handed her two folded pieces of parchment. She then motioned to the new bloods to take a break while she examined the letters. She took a seat under the shade of a tree where she cut open the first letter and her eyes roamed over the letter. It was from Khyeena. She and her class had gone to the ancient Nord ruins of Saarthal. From how the Khajiit was describing it, the ruins were once a Nord city that was ransacked by Elves during what scholars called the Night of Tears. The letter went on to explain that they discovered a strange orb and finished off saying that Khyeena would write more about it later.

Isilmé chuckled but smiled. _Who knows? Maybe she’ll discover why the Snow Elves and Atmorans went to war with each other in the first place._ The Falmer hummed at the thought then opened the second letter, however, her blood turned cold. 

**Dovahkiin Isilmé,**

**You caused quite the stir in Skyrim with the power of your Thu’um during these last few months. As you probably have already surmised, not everyone is anxious for the return of the Dragonborn.**

**We, for one, desire to see you grow and develop your talents. In truth, Skyrim needs a true hero in these trying times. As such, we strongly urge you to turn your attention to High Hrothgar, atop the Throat of the World, where we await your arrival to continue your training in mastering, unlocking your true potential in the Way of the Voice.**

**Sincerely,**

**A Friend.**

The Dragonborn huffed softly as she reread the letter. Her thoughts were interrupted when the Huntress approached her, a concerned look in her green eyes. “Red is acting unusual again, Harbinger. Keeps muttering and pacing around in the Whelps Quarters. Might need to go hunting again.” Aela scratched her head uncertain what else to say. The twins had decided on giving Cicero the nickname ‘Red’ as a precaution should anyone from the Dark Brotherhood come snooping near Jorrvaskr. “Thank you, Aela.” The Falmer said as she rose to her feet and patted the dirt from her leggings before heading to the Whelps Quarters. Cicero recovered from his wounds fairly quickly and had adjusted well with his new ‘condition’ with Aela and Isilmé’s help. He was still crazy, usually testing the Huntress’ patience when he could with his daggers and jokes. As Isilmé opened the door, she found the fool pacing around just as Aela had described. 

However, as the Dragonborn studied Cicero’s pacing, she felt something was off. She didn’t sense his wolf itching to hunt or feeling like it was caged, but instead something else was bothering him. She cleared her throat as the fool whirled around hunched over ready to fight but soon relaxed, albeit slightly, to her presence. “Pretty Elf should not sneak up on poor Cicero.” He chided as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“If you used your nose, or listened you’d have known I was coming beforehand.” She sighed pinching the bridge of her nose then exhaled calmly, “Aela mentioned that you were acting strange so I came to check on you.”

Cicero’s lips tightened into a thin line before continuing his pacing. “Something is wrong. Cicero can feel it. Cicero’s pretty little drake is in trouble.” The Falmer closed her eyes. She was right. “Gather your things and meet me at the stables in thirty minutes.” 

She turned to her study where she started packing some supplies and she collected her weapons. She turned her head slightly as her ears picked up the twins’ voices. They had returned sooner than expected. Good. She slung her knapsack across her shoulder then proceeded towards the mead hall where everyone was greeting the returning Companions. Farkas and Vilkas smirked, waving towards their Harbinger who approached them, grinning like an idiot.

“Good to see you boys returned safely.” She commented as the two thanked her. 

“We saw Red at the stables. Said he’s waiting for you. Something wrong ‘Sil?” Farkas asked before his icy blue eyes flickered towards the knapsack, “Heading somewhere?” She showed the two the letter she received. They glanced first at the letter, turned towards each other than looked at her. “I’ll be escorting Red back home first before heading to High Hrothgar...” She stated then bit her lip, “I... I can’t keep putting this off.”

The members of the Companion’s Inner Circle were rendered silent. They did not want their new Harbinger to leave, but as Dragonborn, they knew they could not afford to be selfish. Especially after the events in Ysgramor’s Tomb.

“You’ll write to us though, right?” Farkas asked and Vilkas glanced at her hopefully. She scoffed, then nodded as she chuckled.   
“Of course!” 

“Well then, off you go! The sooner you finish this ungodly quest, the sooner you come home!” Vilkas smirked ruffling her hair as she groans, lamenting that she just brushed her hair to perfection, “To celebrate, we will hold a grand feast upon your return.” The others laugh full of mirth as Isilmé gave her family a flourished bow before departing. She hurried through the streets to the stables where Cicero was tapping his foot angrily. He gave her a glare and was about to snip at her as she finished bridling Sylph when the two heard the whinny of a horse. They turned to find a stallion as black as night, eyes red as hot coals galloping towards them whinnying frantically. His saddle, empty. 

“That’s-”

“Shadowmere!” Cicero nearly cried out, “If Shadowmere is here then Cicero’s pretty mate is in danger!”

The large stallion skid to halt before them, tossing his head back with ears pinned back as he snorted urgently. Isilmé managed to grab the stallion’s bridle urging the horse to calm so that Cicero could at least climb on. Once the jester was up, Isilmé quickly leapt on to Sylph’s back raced after the black steed. Shadowmere was indeed faster than Sylph but the white mare was able to keep up with the otherworldly beast. As they weaved through the trees, Isilmé noticed they were heading towards Falkreath but both riders caught the scent of burning oil, wood and flesh as the horses abruptly halted before an incline. 

Fire...

They saw fire crackling down in the small alcove. Men in strange armor, much similar to the Imperial armor the Dragonborn had seen though they were different in color. Cicero, not waiting for even a second, descended down as red blur of fiery fur with Isilmé following suit. They made short work of the men before heading through an iron door with a skull upon its face. The air was thick with smoke and roaring colors of reds and yellows. The heat singed her fur as she struggled to keep track of the jester. The white wolf managed to pull the feisty red-headed beast by the tail away from a burning scaffolding that snapped and threatened to crush them. Somewhere, glass shattered and there was a loud splash of water. The flames continued to threaten the duo when Isilmé inhaled what was left of clean air and Shouted loudly.

“ _ **Fo Krah Diin!**_ ”

The pillar of snow and ice left her maw as the fires in front of her hissed angrily, becoming nothing more than smoldering embers. She took another breath before unleashing more ice upon the still raging inferno. After what felt like hours, the fires were quelled and the two werewolves were confronted by an emerald green Argonian, a man with dark olive toned skin and a young child with glowing red eyes. At first, they were wary of the two but when the child stated that Usaeleí was trapped under the water, Cicero and Isilmé sprang into action, reaching down into the deep water gripping cold iron with their claws and with great effort pulled out a massive coffin from the depths. The doors to the coffin swung open as the pale Argonian staggered out shuddering as he looked up at the beings before him. “Nazir... Babbette. Veezara! You’re alright.” The lizard sighed in relief then turned towards the two wolves.

“Cicero? And Isilmé?” Usaeleí commented as the two nod in response.

“Why am I not surprised that the crazy fool lives?” The Redguard sighed exasperated.

The green Argonian rubbed his neck, “Then again, its thanks to those two that we’re all still alive.”

Cicero had reverted back and was clinging to the white Argonian tightly though Usaeleí groaned sorely in protest, the Falmer could see that Usaeleí was more than overjoyed to have the fool back. She turned to leave when her childhood friend called to her. She turned her head, ears pricked forward before she snapped her fingers, changing back to normal. Usaeleí’s mismatched eyes glowed softly, silently thanking her. “Veezara, Nazir, Babbette. This is Isilmé.” He introduced her to the surviving members of his family. She bowed her head towards them. 

“By Sithis, today is full of surprises. Not to be rude or anything Isilmé but we have to make ourselves scarce before more of the Penitus Occulatus decide to swarm here.” Nazir coughed as the others glance at him. 

“At least let me tend to your wounds.” The Elf insisted and the green Argonian known as Veezara, patted the Redguard’s shoulder in reassurance. 

“Let her help Nzair. Cicero and I will get the Night Mother set on one of the wagons outside.” Ordered Usaeleí as he and Cicero set out to their tasks.

While the strange couple left to do just that, Isilmé focused on healing the others wounds. Nazir was mostly quietly, not sure how to react to someone who knew his profession and was still kind enough to help. Babbette, along with Veezara on the other hand were bombarding the Falmer with question after question. The Dragonborn was able to answer most of the vampire's and Shadowscale's questions just in time to watch Usaeleí and Nazir maneuver the coffin on to the cart outside. Helping Veezara, Nazir and Babbette in the carriage, Usaeleí turned once more towards Isilmé before giving her a tight hug.

“Thank you, my friend. If you have need of me, just ask and I shall heed the call,” He said as Cicero brought Shadowmere over to them. Usaeleí pulled himself on to the saddle then lifted Cicero up behind him. He waved to her as he and Cicero turned right towards Markarth while the trio in the wagon turned left towards Falkreath.

Just as the assassins disappeared, Sylph nickered softly pulling the Dragonborn from her thoughts. They, themselves wandered back onto the road following the path towards the small town of Ivarstead. From the maps Kodlak showed and the books Gridbran had once read to her, the best way to get to High Hrothgar was through Ivarstead. As she settled into a room for the night, Isilmé salvaged her letter and took a breath. She was still nervous, terrified even for what the morning had in store for her. Tomorrow, she would begin her climb up to the monastery. Tomorrow, her training as the Dragonborn would begin. On the bright side, she managed to save her friend and his family from extinction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Veezara will live! What do you guys think?


	3. The Greybeards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé finally meets the Greybeards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope you all are staying safe! Again thank you for giving my Fic a chance. As always, comments are always appreciated!

“On your way up the Seven Thousand Steps again, Klimmek?” Isilmé heard someone say as she sat beside Sylph’s stall. She had awoken just as the sun was peaking over the horizon and was just finishing breakfast when she noticed the two men by the bridge at the base of the Throat of the World. The one known as Klimmek gave a weary sigh.

“Unfortunately, no Gwilin” Klimmek began rubbing his bandaged knee, “After last week’s climb to High Hrothgar and dealing with that frost troll, my leg is still not fully recovered.”

“But aren’t the Greybeards expecting some supplies?”

“Honestly, I’m not certain. I’ve yet to be allowed into the monastery save for their request to deliver a letter to the courier.” Klimmek shrugged as he looked down at the sacks of dried meats and vegetables. 

“I could do it for you.” Isilmé piped up as the two men turned towards the Elf who walked over to her, “I have business up there anyway.”

“Really?” Klimmek questioned. She beamed a soft smile at him. “That’s awful nice of you and I could use the help.” She grabbed the bags and managed to secure them snuggly over Sylph’s back. Klimmek explained that there would be a chest near the stairs at the monastery where she could leave the supplies. When she asked about any other dangers to look out for on her climb, the old man chuckled. The only threat was the troll that wounded his leg and it was already taken care of. As she climbed the steps, the Dragonborn would occasionally glance behind watching the scenery change from birch trees and falling leaves to the dancing snowflakes playing on the winds that tickled her skin. It was nightfall when she arrived about half of the way and found a cave for her and Sylph to rest for the night. Relieving

Relieving the mare of her burdens, Isilmé slowly gathered some kindling and branches she found in the back of the cavern. She closed her eyes, feeling her body warm slightly. Her purple eyes glowed briefly as she whispered softly towards the pile of kindling. “ _ **Yol**_...” Sparks left her lips, clinging to the dry wood as it snapped, then soft crackles resonated as the wood slowly burned into a warm fire before her. She felt Sylph resting her head on her lap and the Dragonborn chuckled softly. Running her hand along the mare’s neck, Isilmé turned her attention to the horned figure at the entrance. “Father? What are you doing here?” Hearing his Cub call him that still made the Huntsman’s heart swell with pride. “Can I not visit my Cub?” Hircine asked curiously as he sat across from her removing his hood. He had taken the form Hunter and was dusting the powdery snow from his shoulders. His amber eyes quirking slightly at Sylph’s silent glare at him. “Is this a casual visit or is this a teaching?” Isilmé wondered aloud. The Huntsman snorted with amusement before shaking his head. “A friendly visit, Cub.”

They sat beside the fire in silence for a while, but as the air was thick with apprehension and above all fear. His amber eyes softened on the Dragonborn as she stared off into the flames, her mind clearly spiraling with uncertainty despite the brave face she donned. “You know,” Hircine began as he ran his hand through his long black hair, “there’s nothing wrong with being scared or uncertain, Isilmé.” She gazed at him in contemplation before copying his motion with her own hair. 

“I... I really don’t know what to expect with this so-called ‘destiny’ or any of this for that matter.”

“Haha. Life is always unexpecting. If you expect an easy life, then you’re not really living.” The Prince stated.stated.

“I don’t know anything about being a hero!” She explained wincing at the mare’s reprimanding snort after an accidental, though gentle, smack to the nose. “I’m not cut out for it...”

“Isilmé... being a hero... there are no books on this subject. By Anu, we Daedra never had teachers to teach us how be what we are. We had to learn on our own.” The Huntsman said softly, his tone gentle yet firm, as he reached over to her and gently lifted her chin, “But you, my daughter, actually have teachers to help you and guide you. You have the Companions, your friends, my brethren and now the Greybeards. I know you’re frightened but as Kodlak said, you can do this."

It was actually reassuring to have her father with her. He often kept her distracted with interesting tales about her mother. Once Isilmé had relaxed enough and fell asleep, the Huntsman remained ever vigilant. However, Hircine was gone when Isilmé awoke the next morning but that didn't surprise her. She was feeling a lot more confident than she had before and once again set off to High Hrothgar. Sylph trotted behind her as they found themselves standing before the grand monastery and Isilmé could help but marvel at the presence it inspired. There was even a stone stable tuck close to the mountain, protected from the harsh weather. “Well,” She sighed while getting the mare settled in, “No turning back, I guess.” Sylph nickered softly sensing her mistress’ apprehension and gave her cheek a reassuring nuzzle with her snout. 

“You’re right. Thanks girl.” She smiled as she collected the satchel of supplies. “Wish me luck.” Sylph tossed her head neighing as she watched Isilmé make her way up the stairs. Upon proceeding through the doors of High Hrothgar, the young Falmer instantly left speechless at the simplistic beauty. Banners hung from the ceilings with Dovahzul markings on them. Sky guard you... Wind guide you. Isilmé read silently as she wandered to the center of the main chamber. A twitch of her nose quickly alerted her that she was not alone. 

She noticed four Nord men dressed in strange monk robes. Judging from their looks and the wrinkles on their faces, they were much old than Kodlak was. They also had long gray beards and that made the Falmer wonder if that was how they came to be known as the Greybeards. One of them, had his beard tied neatly and cut short barely touching his sternum. He had silvery green eyes that reflected nearly several decades of wisdom. He gave the Dragonborn a calm face. “So... the Dragonborn arrives. Welcome to High Hrothgar, Isilmé. Daughter of Hircine.” He had a soft yet stern voice that echoed through the cavernous chamber, but the faint rumbling of the temple left her feeling a little nervous. 

“Wait... You know what I am?” Isilmé questioned appalled as she composed herself. She wasn’t expecting such a causal greeting that she was receiving. He nodded as he approached her, his hands lost in the sleeves of his robes. “The voice of Kynareth whispered to us on the wind of your uniqueness. We also know that you are Falmer and a wolf.” He explained then slowly began stroking his beard as he collected his thoughts. 

“But first, introductions. I am Master Arngeir. These are masters Borri, Wulthgar and Einarth.” Arngeir introduced, gesturing to each of his companions who bowed as their names were spoken. Isilmé gave a polite nod to each. “We are the Greybeards, followers in the Way of the Voice. You, Isilmé of the Snow; Dragonborn, stand in High Hrothgar on the slopes of Kynareth’s sacred mountain. Here we commune with the voice of the sky and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves. We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as our predecessors have sought to guide those of Dragon Blood that came before you.” Arngeir explained as he had her follow him. The other three masters took their leave, settling down in the center of the chamber, kneeling, praying in silence.

“As Greybeards, we study the Way of the Voice in accordance to the teachings of our founder, Jurgen Windcaller.” Arngeir went on to explain the history of the monastery while giving her a tour on her temporary new home, “Very few are permitted to study here at High Hrothgar, however in your case’ Dragonborn, it is a privilege and an honor to guide you towards the mastery of the Thu’um.” 

“Why don’t the other masters talk?” Isilmé asked curiously.

Arngeir turned her way to reply, “Their Voices are too powerful for anyone not properly trained in the Way to withstand. Even a simple whisper could kill.”

Isilmé also learned that there was also a fifth member known as Paarthurnax who resided at the peak of the mountain. He apparently lives in seclusion and rarely speaks to the others. Master Arngeir stated that Paarthurnax was like a grand master, having truly mastered the Way of the Voice through many years of meditation, dedication and perserverance. When Isilmé asked when she would speak with Paarthurnax, the old Greybeard gave a stern reply. “You will know when you are ready when your Voice can open the path to him.” _Rather cryptic he is about this Paarthurnax fellow... but I really should pace myself_ She thought as Arngeir brought her to her room. It was rustic despite the stone walls setting off the décor. 

“This will be your room while you train here with us.” Arngeir explained, his eyes studying her as she ran her fingers along the dresser and nightstands. She removed her attentions away from the book filled bookcase near the dresser to listen to the Greybeard as he cleared his throat. 

“Since you’ve had quite the long journey up the mountain, we will begin your lessons tomorrow.” He informed, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his robes then he nodded towards the bookcase, “Feel free to read about Jurgen Windcaller. It will most certainly help with your lessons tomorrow. Wind guide you.” With that, he closed the door behind so that Isilmé could settle in properly. While getting ready for bed, the Dragonborn decided to take Arngeir’s suggestion and took a heavy book from the bookcase to read. The book was on Jurgen Windcaller, himself. She changed into her night clothes and as she settled under the fur blankets of the bed, she propped open the book and began to read.

Windcaller, as she read, was once a great leader of the ancient Nords, a master of the Voice or Tongue as they were known during that era. After the disaster at Red Mountain, where the Atmorans suffered a horrible defeat, Jurgen came to realize that the gods had punished the Ancient Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous misuse of the Voice. Windcaller was the first to fully understand that the Thu’um was to used solely for the glory and worship of the Divines, not for men. The Voice was after all, a gift from the goddess Kynareth at the dawn of time. She was the one who had given Men, Argonians and Khajiit the ability to speak as dragons do. Thus, the Way of the Voice was born. “True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when one’s inner spirit is in harmony with one’s outward actions.” The Dragonborn closed the book and yawned. Resting the book on the nightstand, she blew out the candle and snuggled under the furs.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe Hircine being supportive :3 
> 
> Fun fact: my step father gave me the same pep talk Hircine is giving Isilmé.


	4. First Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé begins her training with the Greybeards while also feeling her Dovahs presence even more.

“Without training, you have already taken your first steps towards projecting Voice into a Thu’um, a Shout. As you are no doubt aware, when you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power.” Arngeir explained the next morning after breakfast. He opted to do some traditional, almost classroom style teachings and Isilmé was sitting across from him in the Hall of Meditation, listening intently as he continued his lecture, “As you master each Word, your Shout will grow progressively stronger.”

The Dragonborn nodded. “Why are Shouts in the dragon language exactly?”

“Dragons,” The Greybeard started with an amused chortled at her question, “have always been able to Shout. Language is intrinsic to their very beings. There isn’t much difference in the Dovah’s language between debating and fighting. Just as breathing or speaking comes naturally for us, Shouting is just as natural to a dragon. Interestingly enough, their language has been around since the Merethic Era.” Realizing he went slightly off topic by the way the Falmer was suppressing a giggle, Arngeir coughed to compose himself. “Do you have any more questions for me, Dragonborn?”

“Aye.” It was a question that had been bothering her since her first encounter with the dragon in Whiterun. “Why are the dragons returning? Does it have something to do with me being Dragonborn?”

“You ask a grave question but I have no doubt that you being Dragonborn is indeed linked to the return of the ancient beasts. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not a coincidence or an accident. More than likely, your destiny is bound with their return.” Her master responded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Do not fret though. Your path will soon be made clear.” He dismissed her, requesting that she review their lesson while she tended to her chores with Sylph. He reminded her that as soon as she finished, Isilmé was grab lunch then meet him and the other masters in the training yard. Sylph was enjoying the serenity while Isilmé tended to her stall. 

“Quite the view.” She said as she laid down fresh clean straw then wiping her brow of sweat turned towards the vast landscape below. She could make out Whiterun as it was closest and she sighed. _It is so disconnected from everything that continues to transpire down below..._ She realized. Sylph nickered softly in agreement as the wind whipped through their hair. It wasn’t cold to them. Not in the least, but gods the view was breathtaking. After filling the mare’s trough with warm mash and a bucket filled with warm water, which she managed to heat carefully with a simple Flame spell. She draped the mare’s blanket over her back and quickly returned to the dining hall to make some lunch.

“Before we proceed with your next lesson, Dragonborn; myself and the others would like you to Shout at us.”

“Come again?” Perhaps she misheard.

“Do not be afraid. Your Shout will not harm us.” The Greybeard reassured as he waved his hand towards his brethren, “We merely wish to taste your power in order to properly train you.”

 _I guess that makes sense_... She muttered in her head then contemplated on which Shout to use. Her eyes flashed with gold and purple colored hues as the Word she thought of rushed through her. “ _ **Fus!!**_ ” She Shouted, the small shockwave slamming into the four masters who merely just staggered at her power though she managed to knock Arngeir’s hood off. _Okay... They weren’t kidding. They really can take a hit._ Isilmé scratched her neck while watching her teachers dust the snow from their robes. _A bit overzealous but most impressive!_ Arngeir praised silently as he pulled his hood back over his head as he glanced at Master Einarth who nodded his head understanding. He moved away from the group and stood a few long strides across Isilmé before nodding his head towards Arngeir. She turned her head towards him.

“After tasting your Voice, I must admit, you are very powerful indeed and demonstrate incredible restraint. Very well done.” He pointed out as the Falmer gave a shy smile. She explained that since learning about her heritage and power, the Companions and her Daedric family had been a huge help in learning self-control. “Haha. Before we lose track of time, Master Einarth will now teach you _Ro_ , the second Word in Unrelenting Force. _Ro_ means ‘Balance’ in the dragon tongue. Combine it with _Fus_ or ‘ _Force_ ’ to focus your _Thu’um_ more sharply. More precise. Master Einarth, if you please.” Arngeir instructed gesturing for Isilmé to focus.

 _ **Ro**_...

Einarth’s voice was barely a whisper. It sounded more like he was releasing his breath. Nonetheless, Isilmé’s ears were sharp enough to hear the Word. However, she also felt what could only be the dovah stirring to the Voice. She closed her eyes, feeling the Word forming within her minds’ eye. The Greybeards were sincerely impressed. She learned a new Word of Power like a master. “Learning a Word of Power is only the first part though isn’t it?” She questioned opening her purple eyes and glancing over at Arngeir. “There’s more to it.” The others nodded firmly. 

“You are correct, Dragonborn. You must unlock its meaning as well in order to use it in a Shout. Although, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. Being Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly.” Master Arngeir admitted as Einarth tapped her shoulder and Isilmé inclined her head curiously. “Ah, yes. Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of _Ro_.” The masters then had her practice her Thu’um on phantom forms up until around sunset. It was long and strenuous but invigorating and kind of fun. Deciding to end the lessons for the evening, her masters retired back inside the temple while Isilmé remained outside. She sat cross-legged in the snow, her eyes watching the horizon. The gold and crimson colored light bounced off the clouds bathing the snowy ground in a stunning array of light. What a perfect way to end the day.

“Have you finished reviewing our lessons from yesterday, Dragonborn?” Arngeir questioned the next morning observing Isilmé set the table with some breakfast for everyone. She nodded her head as she finished pouring water into the silver goblets just as the other masters strolled in, their robes dusted with powdered snow from their morning meditations outside. They bowed their heads in her direction, showing silent gratitude for the meal she prepared them.

“What will we be doing today, Master?” Isilmé asked curiously before slicing her apple and munching quietly. Arngeir took a long drink from his cup before he and the others nodded in silent agreement. They knew that she could learn a new Word with incredible ease but what about learning entirely new Shouts?

“Today, we will see how you learn a completely new Shout. I sense that you have already begun to learn the Whirlwind Shout but would you be so kind in telling us the Words you have learned so far?” Isilmé

Isilmé turned her head to the ceiling deep in thought. “I learned the Words _Wuld_ and _Nah_ while traveling with my Shield Brothers before my mentor passed away,” She recalled the Word Walls she had encountered with Farkas and Vilkas in the Reach and nodded firmly.

“Excellent. You show remarkable promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next lesson in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri after our meal has settled.” Arngeir instructed. They continued their meal in pleasant silence. Arngeir would ask her questions for the other masters and in truth she didn’t mind any of them. She told them all she could about what had transpired over the pass twenty years. After clearing the table of plates, the four masters and the Dragonborn wandered to the courtyard. The soft snow crunched under their feet as they approached a large steel grated door and Isilmé struggled to comprehend its purpose. Her thoughts were interrupted when Arngeir cleared his throat, indicating that she should listen.

“Master Borri will now teach _Kest_ which means ‘ _Tempest_ ’. Remember, Dragonborn, you must hear the Word within yourself before you can project it.” The Greybeard stepped back to allow Master Borri to approach her. He took a quiet breath then in the softest traces of a whisper, he said, “... _ **Kest**_...” Once again, Isilmé felt her dragon stir as the Word formed within her. _Tempest... a violent storm. A gale powerful enough to frighten any would-be foe._ Isilmé opened her eyes to see ribbons of gold and blue rush around her as this knowledge flowed through her. She felt the dov hum in delight. Strange, since she first discovered that she was Dragonborn, her dragon soul had been surprisingly quiet and barely noticeable, but now Isilmé was beginning to feel its presence ever more. It wasn’t unwelcomed. Just strange. 

“Are you alright, Dragonborn?” 

She blinked and smiled shyly. “I’m sorry, Master. I kind of spaced out for a moment. Would you please continue?”

“Very well. Master Wulfgar will now demonstrate the Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn.” He informed her. “Watch closely. Begin Master Borri.”

The shorter Greybeard inhaled deeply then like the crack of thunder, he Shouted “ _ **BEX!!!**_ ”

“ _ **Wuld Nah Kest!**_ ” Master Wulfgar matched the Shout with his own.

Suddenly, the tall iron gate swung open with a mighty swing then swung shut with a thunderous crack! Isilmé only saw the blur that was her master, zoom passed the gate just it slammed behind him and there he stood just a few feet away the edge of the mountainside. Her heart hammered wildly that unexpected rush. She was clearly unprepared to taste her masters’ Thu’um. It actually left her very bones rattling. “Now it is your turn. Stand next to me. That’s it. Now, Borri will open the gate.” Arngeir informed as she stood beside facing the closed gate. “Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through the before the gate closes.” She swallowed nervously.

“ _ **BEX!!!**_ ” Borri Shouted once more.

“ ** _WULD NAH KEST!!!_** ” 

**_FHOOOOM!_ **

She dashed off! The scenery around nothing more than a blurry line. The snow that had started to fall so gently now stung her face. Her hair like a whip behind her. She heard the gate snap loudly behind her and she tried to stop, but the icy slope made that impossible. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet vanished, leaving her standing on air. Realization hit her like a rock sinking below the waves of a lake. She was going to fall off the mountainside! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt that this is what should happen when you first meet the Greybeards and when they do train a Dragonborn they test their Voice to gauge how to proceed in teaching them. 
> 
> For those who are wondering, Isilmé learnt at most 15 Words of Power [as we know Shouts are made of 3 words of Power] through the first story while being with the Companions: 
> 
> Whirlwind Sprint- Wuld Na Kest (during her travels to and from Kilkreath.)
> 
> Frost Breath- Fo Krah Diin (learned from slaying a Frost Dragon near Kilkreath)
> 
> Healing Breath {this Shout is not found in Skyrim}- Haas Sil Kogaan (made this up on her own)
> 
> Fire Breath- Yol Tu Shuul (she learnt the first word at a word wall with Farkas, second while seeking out the Hagravens)
> 
> Unrelenting Force- Fus Ro Dah


	5. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé and Aela go on a trip to Morthal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is still done. I haven't been up for writing lately due to having to say goodbye to my 14year old German Shepherd

“Dragonborn!” Arngeir gasped in alarm as the Greybeards rushed to the cliffside. Leaning over the edge slightly, they saw a white mass clinging to the mountainside huffing in relief. Isilmé had managed to shift into her wolf form just in time to pin herself to the mountainside and keep from falling to her death at the base of the great mountain. Digging her sharp claws into the rocks, Isilmé began her climb back up to the courtyard, gripping the crevices to maintain a foothold. Hauling herself up, the white wolf shook her body free of snow before collapsing dramatically. “I think that will be enough for now.” Arngeir chuckled in relief. Isilmé pinned her ears back, growling slightly as she sat on her haunches. “I heartily agree.” She said secretly thanking her lucky stars that her reflexes kicked at the right moment. She swished her tail when the Greybeard, unable to resist patted her head. After calming down from her near-death experience, the Falmer reverted back to normal and reassured her masters that she was fine. 

“Your quick mastery of the Thu’um is... well incredible. We had heard stories of a Dragonborn’s abilities but to see it with our own eyes...”

“I don’t know how I do it. It just happens. We Mer are normally unable to Shout...” The Dragonborn stated with a shrug.

“Indeed. The Gods were trying to establish a sort of balance on Nirn. Elves, such as yourself, are quite powerful in many ways that Man and Beastfolf are not. Your kind, be they Dunmer, Altmer, Bosmer or even Falmer were gifted with magic and longevity. Any more power would make elves almost god-like leaving us humans and even the Beastfolk at a major disadvantage.” Arngeir explained then added in a light-hearted tone, “But you, Dragonborn, were given this gift by the Gods for a reason. It is up to you to figure out how best to use it and that means it is time for your final trial.” Final trial? I don’t have to do that Shout again up here? She quirked her head bemused. 

“You will be heading to Ustengrav; the resting place of our founder.” Arngeir explained as the five of them returned inside. He continued to explain after marking her map, “From his ancient tomb is where you will retrieve the Horn of Jergen Windcaller. Remain true to the Way of the Voice and you will return.” He and his fellow masters slowly escorted Isilmé to the front of the monastery and silently waited for her to fetch Sylph.

They bowed slowly as she clicked her tongue for the mare to follow. Once out of sight, the masters turned their eyes to the top of the mountain catching a glimpse of a massive beast flying overhead. 

The journey back down to Ivarstead was much easier than expected and the two arrived at the base by mid-afternoon. They rested for a couple days before making their way back to Jorrvaskr. When she returned to Whiterun, she was met with a few familiar faces. She saw the twins helping out Skulvar with the stables. “Do my eyes deceive me? Are the warriors of Jorrvaskr reduced to stableboys?” She mocked playfully feigning disbelief. The twins visibly flinched before turning theirs in her direction. They whooped in delight as they abandoned the pitchforks to hug their Shield-Sister. She may have only been gone a short while but it felt like an eternity to them. While the boys finished up with the stables and the Falmer let Sylph out into a pasture with the other horses, she and the twins jogged up towards home. The other Companions were overjoyed to see their Harbinger again and Tilma was hard at work preparing a feast for everyone. 

“What was it like on the mountain?”

“Yeah, ‘Sil. Tell us.”

“Was it cold?”

“Is it true that the Greybeards don’t talk much?”

She was met with a barrage of questions. She could barely get a word in edgewise before she finally boomed, “Enough!” The room fell quiet when the building slightly shook and she chuckled softly. She explained that she would answer everyone as soon as supper was ready but, in the meantime, everyone should go about their business while she checked in with the Inner Circle.

The four members strolled down to the Harbinger’s study where Isilmé out a happy sigh. Taking a seat in her chair and taking in the familiar scents, she glanced up at the three. “So, anything to report while I was away?” She asked curiously as the twins took a seat beside the small table behind her and Aela leaned against the bookcase.

“So far it’s been rather quiet. A few dragon sightings but nothing more.” Farkas informed.

“Yeah. It’s been too quiet for our liking though,” Aela added then smirked at Vilkas, “Don’t you think, Vil?” The older twin chuckled in agreement. Indeed, since the Dragonborn left, things in Whiterun were pretty calm. Boring, really. “Well, I will only be staying until tomorrow morning. The Greybeards sent me on a task.” Isilmé relayed to them about having to head to Morthal to the ruins of Ustengrav. Aela’s eyes seemed to glow excitedly. As it so happened, she had an assignment for the Jarl in Morthal. “Perhaps we can travel together?” The Huntress offered hopefully. 

“I’d like that.” Isilmé accepted then glanced at Aela mischievously, “I mean the last time we were on a mission; we were dealing with Cicero.”

“By Hircine’s might! Don’t get me started on that crazy fool!”

The Dragoborn laughed and four returned to the mead hall to enjoy a hearty meal. The Falmer told her tale on High Hrothgar, embellishing on how majestic it was on the Throat of the World. She talked about her masters and how each one had studied for years in the Way of the Voice. She chuckled that despite being covered in snow; it wasn’t cold to her. Windy? Most definitely. “The scenery is absolutely stunning. Both during the day and night,” She sighed drawing her tale to a close, “Except, they are so disconnected from everything down here.” The Companions mumbled in surprise at the revelation. When Athis and Njada inquired how, Isilmé could only shrug. Considering their ages, it was possible that a trip down the mountain could be hard on their bodies. However, she remained unsure.

“Ugh, the hold of Morthal gives me goose-flesh.” Isilmé grumbled, her ears twitching at the slightest of sounds. “And it smells worse than a week-old dead horker, salting in the sun too long.” 

Aela was pinching her nose as the two women trudged along through the marsh. They arrived at Ustengrav but had to crouch low in the tall grass as they saw two large centipede looking insects skitter on by. They had huge mandibles and dripping from their mouths were bluish gray sticky looking liquid that bubbled slightly. Poison... Once the foul creatures were out of sight, the Falmer turned towards Aela in confusion. “What were those things?”

The Huntress swallowed nervously. “Those were Chaurus Reapers... Horrible bastards. They often accompany the Falmer, er, the current Falmer. The goblin-looking Falmer. Anyway, those bugs are poisonous and aggressive insects. Don’t mess with them.” The two slunk down the stairs into the barrow and were shocked to find it filled with Draugr. Gripping Dawnbreaker, Isilmé and the Huntress warily approached them. To their surprise but relief, the Draugr were uninterested in the women and went about their business, tending to the braziers and their fallen brethren. It was strange strolling through the halls of the Nordic tomb while the Draugr walked the corridors and the two werewolves were constantly looking over their shoulders anticipating attacks. “So, what are you looking for exactly?” Isilmé questioned the Huntress as they soon discovered that the Draugr seriously had no interest in them. 

“I’m looking for an artifact of Hircine. One of his totems.”

“Which one are you looking for?” Isilmé remembered her father had three known totems that could enhance a werewolf's abilities dramatically. 

“A wolf's decorated skull.” Aela clarified as they wandered through another adjoining chamber. The two soon followed the sounds of a waterfall nearby where they saw a large body of water below them leading to several metal gates. Aela leapt first landing in the water and she swam to the shore to find Isilmé already waiting. When the Nord woman inquired how she arrived so quickly, the Daughter of the Hunt pointed to a steep slope leading downwards. While Aela grumbled irritably, Isilmé found another Word Wall and heard it whisper to her. Feim… It whispered. Isilmé was not familiar with it but she felt her dragon rumble softly. Fade. She felt it say and the two continued onwards, having no luck so far in their intended quarries.

The two soon came across three oddly placed stones that stood before the gates. While Isilmé inspected the gates, Aela examined the stones. She clicked her tongue impatiently. What were these stones even for anyway? She approached the Dragonborn in hopes that she found a switch or something but was left stunned when the two heard a low humming coming from the stones and they started to turn red. The gates in front of them suddenly rattled and rose shakily but before the two could even pass through the first one the gates slammed shut. “What the fuck?” Aela snarled as she tried to lift the gates by force but the stubborn steel remained rooted to the spot. 

“Hold on Aela.” The Snow Elf called out as an idea popped into her head, “What did you before approaching the gates?”  
“Besides walking through the strange rock formation, nothing.”

“I think I know what to do.” 

Aela stood beside the gate looking crossed as Isilmé approached the back of the rock arrangement. Steeling herself, Isilmé closed her eyes; cleared her thoughts and focused on the Words she was about to use. Her eyes snapped open, glowing with the mixture of purples and golds as the Shout left her throat. “ _ **Wuld... NAH KEST!**_ ” Her Thu’um made the very ground shake as she zoomed past the gates as they briefly opened. The gates crashed down before Aela could also pass through and just as the flame-haired Huntress was about to storm out of the chamber, the moaning of creaking metal caught her ears. She turned to see the path now cleared with the Harbinger waving her down. Gods, she was not ready to feel the Dragonborn’s power yet at the same time, it made her heart race with excitement. 

After another hour wandering through the tomb, they came across a massive chamber surrounded by water with a stone pathway leading to a sarcophagus in the back of the room. That must be where the Horn is Isilmé assumed as the two wolves jogged towards the casket. However, instead of a horn being perched on the pedestal, there was an envelope with a waxy seal of a sword embedded on it. Someone had stolen the Horn. But why? Isilmé caught the scent of mead and herbs, followed by an unknown scent wafting from the parchment. Using Aela’s dagger, Isilmé opened the small parcel. “A letter?” Aela asked quizzically.

_I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent a room in the attic at the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood. I shall meet you there._

_A Friend._

Whoever took the horn knew Isilmé would be seeking it out and seemed to know where out was hidden. Aela let out a happy bark when they found a chest behind the tomb. Inside was the skull she had be describing earlier. "Found what I was looking for" she smiled. Isilmé rolled her eyes. It seems her hunt has just begun.


	6. A Blade in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé, still seeking the Horn of Windcaller, travels back to Riverhold in search of the thief to find the innkeeper hiding an incredible secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am i the only one who just wanted to smack Delphine for all the trouble she puts us through?

It was late in the evening when the two women made it back to Whiterun a few days later and after parting ways with the Huntress, Isilmé turned Sylph towards Riverwood and rode in pleasant silence. The Snow Elf was happy that her Shield-Sister found what she was looking for and even more so since the two women actually had a better experience traveling together. The last few times they traveled alone together; they had witnessed the death of their Shield-Brother Skjor then they endured and trained the energetic red-headed, now turned werewolf: Cicero.

“I still want to know who stole the damn Horn,” The Elf grumbled feeling her brow twitch, “Not to mention, how did they know I would be going there?” She had too many questions burning through her mind but she was pulled from her thoughts when Sylph snorted softly, her hooves lightly pawing the dirt. The horse had stopped before the Sleeping Giant Inn and watched as her owner descended from the saddle and led her to an empty stall. “Get some rest girl.” Isilmé whispered after relieving the mare of her tack and the elf wandered inside.

She noticed the Delphine talking to her associate, something about needing to restock on ale when the woman noticed the Dragonborn waiting patiently for her to finish her conversation. “Can I help you?”

“Um, yes.” Isilmé nodded, “I was wondering I could rent the attic room, please.”

“Attic room?” The Breton quirked a brow then furrow her brow tightly, “Well... we don’t have an attic room, but you can have the room on the left. Make yourself at home.” It was strange but Isilmé swore that Delphine had the same scent as the letter she found at Ustengrav. Deciding that it may be a good idea to rest, Isilmé paid for the room and closed the door behind her. She freed herself from her armor and stripped down into a warm tunic and pants before crawling under the warm pelts of the bed. Perhaps the person she needed to find was resting as well and would most likely meet her in the morning but for now she would rest. Or so she thought.

“So, you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about. I never expected you to be an Elf” 

Isilmé’s eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly with her claws extended only to retract them though only partially, when she found Delphine standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. The Breton removed something from the satchel on her waist and produced a strange horn. No way! Is that... “I believe this is what you are looking for.” The woman stated then tossed the relic at Isilmé who caught it with utmost care. “We need to talk. Come on.” Grumpily, the Snow Elf trailed behind Delphine doing her best not to curse out the innkeeper for rudely waking her up and leading her on this horrible chase. She growled as the woman closed the door to a secret room behind them, “I hope you have a damn good reason for dragging me around with this cloak and dagger shit.”

“It was the only way I could make sure it wasn’t a Thalmor trap.” 

Isilmé rolled her eyes. Figures. “Here I am. What do you want and why are you looking for me?”

Delphine crossed her arms, her brown eyes studying her warily. “We remember what most don’t- that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You’re the only one who can permanently kill a dragon by devouring its soul.” The Breton then leaned forward, invading the Falmer’s personal space adding skeptically, “Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon’s soul?”

“I _absorb_ their souls.” Isilmé clarified shifting away from Delphine, “I discovered I was Dragonborn when I defeated a dragon and absorbed its soul in Whiterun. Though that is really none of your business.”

“Wrong again, Elf. This IS my business and you need my help.”

“If that's true, care to explain what you are not telling me then?”

Growling, Delphine unrolled a map on to the table and beckoned the Falmer over to listen. She then explained that dragons were not just coming back, they were actually coming back to life. The creatures weren’t gone, they were dead. Killed off centuries ago, according to the Breton. “Now, something or someone is bringing them back to life and whether I like it or not, I need your help to do it.” She concluded.

“This sounds as crazy as Sanguine becoming sober. What makes you think that dragons are coming back to life? What evidence do you have Delphine?” 

“I’ve been to one of their ancient burial mounds and found it empty, just a massive crater. But I figured out where the next one is and you’re coming with me if you want the rest of the information I have.”

Isilmé took a deep breath feeling her rage boiling. First this woman steals the horn of Jergen Windcaller and was now demanding that she help her kill a dragon. All to prove that she was Dragonborn. The Snow Elf could feel her dragon soul growling irritably and though she agreed that this was highly disrespectful, if the information Delphine had held merit, then they would have to work together for the time being.

“Where are we headed?” The Breton gave a smug smile as she pointed on the map. Kynesgrove.

“There is a burial mound on the hill there.” Said Delphine. The Elf blinked in surprise and recognition. “I know that mound, not too far from Windhelm. The mound is high on a hill east of Kynsegrove.” Isilmé stated. She had once visited that mound as a child with her grandfather and later when she was in Eastmarch looking for a lost heirloom for a family in Whiterun. Now the two women were off to kill a dragon.

It took the two about a day of riding nonstop to Kynesgrove and already Isilmé felt the air shift around her. She felt her skin start to form goose flesh and her palms felt clammy. The glimpse of the black dragon from Helgen flew over the women towards the mound.

Not waiting for Delphine to dismount, the Falmer leapt from the saddle, sword in hand as she sprinted up the steep incline behind the small hamlet up towards the spiraling lights streaming downward. Dawnbreaker shimmered brightly in the sunset as Isilmé crouched low in the tall tundra grass to find the massive black beast beating his massive wings over the impressive burial ground that looked like it could barely fit the black dragon’s body. She watched as he opened his menacing jaws and spoke in the ancient Tongue of Dragons, feeling her dragon soul tremble to his power.

“ _ **Sahloknir, zii gro dovah ulse!**_ ” The World-Eater rumbled darkly before drawing in a breath and Isilmé swore the very atmosphere shook when the beast Shouted once more, “ _ **Slen Tiid Vol!!**_ ”

The power of his Thu’um shattered the large stone lid of the burial mound and emerging from the earth was an equally large skeletal dragon. The bony creature let loose an ear-piercing shriek announcing its return to the land of the living before turning its bony head upwards towards Alduin. A familiar glow wrapped around the bones reviving and restoring the skeletal drake with its flesh and scales. As the glowing aura dissipated, the now revived ancient dragon shook his head free of the dust, the setting sun turning his maroon colored scales nearly crimson and he gazed once more at the flying monstrosity above him. 

“ **Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruzik?** ” Asked the newly revived Sahloknir submissively. He clearly did not wish to serve the World-Eater.

Alduin nodded his great head, blood-red eyes shining brilliantly then his gaze spotted Isilmé in the grass. His eyes were still as cold and menacing since she first saw them, however this time, there was something off about them. Like he recognized her... The only sound that she heard were the beating of Alduin’s wings on the wind and she felt her breath hitch when the black dragon spoke to her almost mockingly.

“ _ **Ful, losei Dovahkiin?**_ ” Scoffed the World-Eater as he pulled his lips back in a sneer before adding with an unimpressed chuckle, “ _ **Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi**_.” 

“ _Zu’u LOS Dovahkiin, hi pahlok, bruniik_ _raan_!” Isilmé glared back at him, her dragon soul growling within her. 

“ _ **Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!**_ ” Alduin roared in anger. Not only did this little joor, this mortal, insult him; but she managed to do so in his own tongue! He whipped his head towards Sahloknir and snarled out an order. “ _ **Sahloknir, krii daar joor!**_ ” With a mighty beat of his obsidan wings, the World-Eater ascended to the clouds above, leaving Sahloknir to deal with the Elf. Once his master had gone, the ancient dragon turned his head to face Isilmé. 

" **Krosis, Dovahkiin** " was all he said before releasing a torrent of flame at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah translations:
> 
> Sahloknir, zii gro Dovah ulse! Slen Tiid Vol! (Sahloknir, I bind your dragon spirit for eternity! Flesh Time Undo!
> 
> Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik? (Alduin, my lord! Has the time come to revive our ancient realm?)
> 
> Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi. (So, you are Dragonborn? I see none of the dragonkind in you.)
> 
> Zu’u LOS Dovahkiin, hi pahlok, bruniik raan! (I AM Dragonborn, you arrogant, savage animal!)
> 
> Krii daar joor (Kill the mortal


	7. Stormcrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After defeating Sahloknir, Isilmé and Delphine return to Riverhold to plan their next move: crash Elenwen's party. However there is a snag. Isilmé and Elenwen have history, (though brief) and an Altmers memory is a long one. Thankfully, Isilmé knows a solution and even the Jarl of Whiterun can't pass up the chance. But first, she has a detour to make to High Hrothgar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in the works!

Delphine still could not believe the events unfolding before her as she watched the Falmer battle the reawakened dragon. Just as ferociously as the monster, Isilmé fought hard until she felled the dragon with a clean, dare she say, merciful sword thrust through its chest. Sahloknir made a noise that sounded like a gurgled growl as his body slumped to the ground slowly. At first, shock filled his eyes then while gazing into the Elf’s gaze, he seemed to be at peace with the outcome. Delphine was stunned speechless. She soon witnessed the Elf kneel before his great head seemingly muttering a prayer. “ **Nox hii, Dovahkiin... fah aan morokei krif... ahrk... fah bolaavru zu’u stin...** ” The creature seemed to rumble weakly. The Dragonborn rested her hand upon the dragon’s cheek, watching his eyes close as though he were merely falling asleep and observed the flesh evaporate in specks of light and Isilmé felt the ribbons of Sahloknir’s soul seep through her skin to settle with her own soul. She dusted herself off and turned to face Delphine.

“I owe you some answers, don’t I?”

The Elf nodded in agreement. “For starters, who or what exactly are you?”

Delphine took in a deep breath before speaking. Apparently, she was one of the last remaining members of the Blades. Isilmé was familiar with the name. During she short time with Gridbran, she had learned that the Blades were once warriors who served the emperor nearly two hundred years ago. After the end of the Septim Dynasty, they were dispersed. Delphine had been on the search for the Dragonborn ever since. When Isilmé questioned her about her knowledge on the dragons return, Delphine merely shook her head. “I don’t know a damn thing.” She grumbled reluctantly, “I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here.”

“I’ve seen it before. The one that left.” 

“Truly? Where?”

“He was the one that attacked Helgen when the Stormcloaks escaped the Imperials.”

“Same dragon... Interesting...” Delphine hummed, resting a hand on her chin and seemed to be deep in her thoughts while watching Isilmé pay her respects to the deceased dragon. The Falmer jumped slightly when the Breton cursed colorfully.

“Damn it! We’re blundering around the dark here! We need find the culprit behind this!” The Blade member shouted. Isilmé agreed. They needed to figure who was behind the dragons and fast. When Delphine stated that the Thalmor Embassy was a perfect lead, the Dragonborn looked skeptical. What made her think the Thalmor would know anything about the dragons? Then again, if they weren’t the culprits, their informants just might know. Either way, Delphine had a point: the ones who’d gain the most from this disaster were the Aldmeri Dominion. “I’ll meet you back at Riverwood. I have to return the Horn back to the Greybeards.” 

“Don’t take too long, Dragonborn.” Delphine huffed, “We have a lot of work to do.”

Once she was out sight, Isilmé climbed into the saddle and made her way to the High Hrothgar. It took her about a week to return and she glad to see her Masters once more. When Argenir questioned her about the length it took her to retrieve the Horn she explained that someone had stolen it before she arrived and she had to track it down. The Greybeard was rather surprised to find that someone had managed to steal the Horn, a priceless relic, by bypassing the traps that only a user of the Voice could surpass. Still, the Daughter of the Hunt was able to track it down. Equally impressive, the draugr that protected that tomb seemed to acknowledge her power and allowed her pass. He then had Wulfgar teach the final Word of Unrelenting Force: Dah. Once she tapped into the knowledge, Arngeir had her follow him to the Hall of Worship where he had her stand between all four of the Masters.

“You have complete your training, Dragonborn. We would speak to you. Stand here between us and prepare yourself,” Arngeir instructed firmly, “Few can withstand the unbridled Thu'um of the Greybeards but you are ready.”

Nodding to his fellow masters and Isilmé who braced herself, spoke in thunderous voices to her:

" **Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau**.” Their voices echoed around her. Her body trembled slightly as they continued to Shout, the temple shaking, reverberating around her.“ **Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.** "

The vibrations settled, the room ceased to spin and Isilmé remained standing, though her soul was coiling in excitement. She inhaled slowing then released her breath. The power of the Greybeards was indeed invigorating and inspiring. Soon, all four were bowing to the Falmer in reverence. 

“Dovahkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you.” The four whispered faintly causing the building to rumble slightly. Arngeir furthered explained that the ceremony was spoken in words traditionally used in greeting a Dragonborn who had undergone and accepted their guidance. He also stated that the words spoken were the same used to greet the young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar. Before he became known as the Emperor Tiber Septim. 

“Can you translate what was spoken to you, Daughter of the Hunt?”

A grin formed on Isilmé gentle face as she cleared her throat, “‘ _Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to hear it._ ’” Her master lowered his head with a smile.

  
Bidding the Greybeards farewell, Isilmé made her way once more down the mountain and rode towards Riverwood. While riding past Helgen, Isilmé spotted a familiar white stag walking beside her. “Good to see you again, Father” she said as the Daedric Prince glanced at her, his amber eyes glittering softly. He nodded his head and for a short while walked in silence. “So you’re Stormcrown now, eh?” Hircine teased as a tint of pink dusted his daughter’s cheeks.

They chatted for a while until they were near the entrance to Riverwood where he gave her a gentle nudge in the shoulder with his antler. “I’ll see you soon when you are on the road. Keep your guard up Cub.” Before she could reply, he had already vanished. She lead her horse to the inn and quietly braced herself for whatever Delphine had to say.

“I figured out how I’m getting you into the Thalmor Embassy.”

“That… didn’t take long.” The Dragonborn stated in surprise. “Then again, you’ve been doing this a long time. So, what’s the plan?”

“The Thalmor ambassador at the Embassy regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of those parties.” The Breton explained then added, “Once you're inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen's secret files-”

“Wait! Did you just say ‘Elenwen' is the Thalmor Ambassador?!”

“Is there a problem I should know about?” Delphine raised a brow suspiciously.   
“Yeah… I know her and she knows me…” The Dragonborn growled. She explained to Delphine that when she was a child, after losing her grandfather figure, she was taken by Thalmor agents while fishing and forced to work for them as a slave. Specifically under Elenwen’s watch. Delphine cursed. That would complicate things. The two women stood in the secret room for what felt like hours when suddenly Isilmé got an idea.

“This plan could still work, it just needs to be altered,” she claimed. “and I think the Jarl of Whiterun could be of help.”

Dragon’s Reach...

“Ah! Dragonborn! Is this a social visit?” Balgruuf greeted happily upon seeing the Falmer as she bowed her head humbly. The Jarl of Whiterun gestured towards one of the grand tables and had her sit down as he took a chair on the opposite side of her. The two chattered for a good hour about her becoming Kodlak’s successor and then finishing her training with the Greybeards when she finally had to explain her true reason for the visit, her tone turned serious.

“I’ve actually come to humbly request a favor, m’lord.” Isilmé explained, “I need to get into the Thalmor Embassy.” The Nord blinked his green eyes, stunned. When he inquired how he could help, she explained the reasoning stating that the Aldmeri Dominion might have information on the dragons currently still raging across Skyrim.

“Unfortunately, Elenwen and I do have a history. However, if I were to accompany you as your servant girl with offerings, I may be able to slip through unnoticed.” She finished explaining and nervously waited for the Jarl’s answer with bated breath.

Balgruuf stroked his beard in thought, weighing her words in silence. When he smiled mischievously at her, Isilmé exhaled in relief. “You are very crafty, Lady Isilmé and I would most certainly like to know what information the Thalmor are withholding.” He admitted then nodded, “That and it would make this party much more entertaining. I will meet you in Solitude. Don’t worry, I’ll have Irileth come along to provide your alibi once you have gotten what you needed.” 

Isilmé bowed and thanked the Jarl once again. Now, she must inform her Shield-Siblings of what will be transpiring and what she would like them to do while she was dealing with the Thalmor. After relaying her request, and being nearly crushed to death by her fellow Companions, Isilmé rode off to Solitude. It nearly took her a week since she once again had to deal with a newly raised dragon near Rorikstead and while resting at an inn near Dragonbridge, the Falmer was visited by Hircine while meditating before bed time. He had brought her to his realm where throughout the night, trained her in more advanced magic and even taught her how to summon his primary weapon: The Spear of Bitter Mercy. Her father truly wanted her to be prepared for anything but concluded that once Alduin had been defeated, he would train her in more lost arts.

Now fully rested, Isilmé made her way to the _Winking Skeever Inn_ in Solitude where Balgruuf and Irileth were waiting for her along with Delphine and a Bosmer known as Malborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah translations:
> 
> Nox hii, Dovahkiin... fah aan morokei krif... ahrk... fah bolaavru zu’u stin... (Thank you, Dragonborn... For a glorious battle... And for granting me freedom...)


	8. Party Crasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé manages to enter the Embassy. Time for the Daughter of the Hunt to have a little fun. ^^

“Here is your servant’s attire and the tribute is in the chest on the wagon.” Balgruuf said as he handed her a simple tunic and breeches. Delphine had Malborn stash Isilmé’s weapons and a change of clothes for her to grab while within the embassy. Delphine then escorted the group to the stables outside the city where she wished the Dragonborn luck on her hunt. The ride to the Thalmor Embassy was nerve-wracking for everyone but thankfully, Balgruuf was more than happy to do all the talking. A few hours ticked by and soon the trio made it to the grand building that was Elenwen’s current residence and headquarters. Isilmé could not help but shudder nervously. A few High Elves dressed in their black Thalmor robes approached as the Jarl produced his invitation and explained Isilmé and Irileth’s presence as the Falmer hoisted the chest on to her shoulder. The two women then proceeded to follow the Jarl inside.

“Ah! Jarl Balgruuf. I am honored that you could make it to the party,” Said an Altmer with long dark blonde hair flowing freely behind her. Her hazel green eyes glanced from the Jarl to the women, “And you brought your Housecarl and-” 

Elenwen paused upon recognizing the Dragonborn. Her tone then changed to one of slight annoyance. “Well, well, well. Isilmé. You’ve certainly grown up. Working for the Jarl?”

“She was hired just recently, Elenwen. My aid Proventus had fallen ill and Isilmé was the only one available to assist me.” Jarl Balgruuf explained as he motioned for the Falmer to present the chest, “Fret not though, she will be leaving with Irileth after you tell her where you wish this gift to be placed in. It is filled with the finest jewelry from our Skyforge and the finest robes my tailors could sew.”  
The Ambassador hummed in delight as the Falmer opened the chest to show off the merchandise. After appraising the items, Elenwen gave a satisfied hum. She then turned towards Malborn who was filling up the glasses with Arenthian red wine and he glanced up when she snapped at him.

“Malborn, please help the Jarl’s servant girl with his gifts and bring them to my residence.” The Bosmer nodded his head, his eyes narrowing coldly at her back. He rushed over to Isilmé and both elves headed through the kitchens, as it was a shortcut to the Ambassador’s mansion. “Let’s place the chest right here for a moment. I need to catch my breath,” Malborn said a little loud before whispering and pointing to stack of barrels, “Your items are in that barrel over there. Grab them and put them in the chest.” 

“Thanks, Malborn.”

After shoving her change of clothes and weapons into the trunk, the two once more headed towards the estate. The guard reluctantly, allowed them to enter, and the two placed the chest in a room near Elenwen’s chamber. Isilmé swiftly changed into the change of clothes and strapped her sword to hip. Noticing a spare Thalmor uniform next her gave her an idea. She quickly donned the uniform and Malborn shook his head in amusement. “I wish you luck. I will have Irileth meet you at the stables. It’s at the front of the gates. I’ll just inform them that you felt a little ill and needed a moment.” With that, the Bosmer left. The Falmer made her way down the stairs, avoiding any potential guards until she found herself in Elenwen’s study. She found a letter on the desk but shook her head. It was a letter to the Emperor’s cousin about her marriage. She found a chest behind the desk and opened it, cringing slightly when the old hinges creaked. She found several black leather-bound books with gold inscriptions. She picked up the first one that was marked Delphine’s Dossier. She slid it into her pack. The next one caught her by surprise. _Ulfric Stormcloak_. “Why would the Jarl of Windhelm have a dossier here?” She said aloud quietly. She took it as well, deciding to read it later. 

Finally, she found a booklet with the name Esbern on it along with a key that was tucked between the pages. Her ears twitched slightly to the sound of someone being tortured below and clenching the key tightly, slipped down a hidden staircase where she unlocked a door into an interrogation/torture chamber. She saw a Thalmor agent beating up on a chained-up Nord in a cell. From the conversation, the Altmer was demanding information on someone hiding in Riften. Isilmé drew her sword then using the pommel knocked the guard out. 

“Please...”

She lifted her head, startled and relieved that the prisoner was still alive, “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Relax, I’m not here to torture you. Let me get those bindings off.” She said soothingly and removed the shackles from the man’s wrists then swiped a key leading to the cellar from the guard. The Nord, not wasting a second, graciously took the key and turned to escape. 

“Wait!” She called out in a hushed whisper, “Who were they asking you about before you go?”

“There you are!” Irileth exclaimed worriedly as Isilmé finally arrived at the stables then gave her a wink, “Malborn told me you weren’t well. Let’s get you to Solitude.” The Falmer struggled to keep from grinning, or laughing for that matter as she climbed back into the wagon heading back to the city. Once back at the Winking Skeever, Isilmé bade Irileth farewell as well as her thanks and the two parted ways with the Dunmer grumbling about returning to the Embassy. As she rode back to Riverwood, the Dragonborn pulled out one of the leather-bound journals and opened its contents. Her purple eyes scanned the pages thoroughly. Apparently after the events of Helgen, Elenwen had been searching for the Blades former lore keeper, Esbern, believing that the Blades themselves are responsible for the return of the dragons. How ironic. The prisoner from before also mentioned the Thalmor were planning on invading what was known as the Riften Ratways believing that is where the old Nord lore keeper was now residing. She gently urged Sylph into a hard sprint as they passed through Rorikstead. Delphine needed to know.

Isilmé pulled Sylph to a halt and leapt out of the saddle. She jogged into the building where she found the Breton stoking a fire. As she relayed the information she had acquired to the Breton, Delphine agreed that she should hasten to Riften. “Look for Brynjolf. He’ll point you in the right direction!” She stated and after gathering supplies, the Dragonborn was off once more. 

Upon arrival, Isilmé immediately caught the scent of Thalmor agents roaming the city. She wandered through the streets, ignoring the dank lake water that surrounded the isle in the center of the city that was the marketplace. It was the middle of the afternoon and bustling with activity. The Falmer scanned the market until she saw a red-headed Nord with alluring green eyes, leaning against the wall watching her. Seeming to know that she wanted to speak with him, he nodded his head towards a wooden bridge leading to a flight of stairs. Before she even opened her mouth, the Nord chuckled. 

“You must be the famous Isilmé. Khyeena often spoke of you and the lizard.”

“And you must be the dashing Brynjolf. She often purred about you in her letters.” She countered with a smile, “Khyeena said to look for you if I needed information or if I wanted to meet with her.”

Brynjolf scratched his cheek sheepishly before making a slight cough when the Falmer told him some the contents his Kitten had relayed to her childhood friend. The thief would need to talk to his Guildmaster later. When Isilmé mentioned that she was searching for an old man in the Ratways, he beckoned her to follow him. “I can take you to the entrance to the Ratways, but be warned. Thalmor are everywhere looking for him as well.” The thief warned. The Dragonborn nodded warily. The two headed down below into a nice-looking tavern in the sewers. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell like a sewer nor look like one. It was like a small city beneath a city. “Khyeena! You have company!” The Nord called out to the Khajiit who spun around on her chair and gasped in surprise. 

“Snowy! You came to visit?” She exclaimed.

Isilmé nodded. “I take it you are taking a break from the College. I’m afraid I can’t stay long. Need to find someone.”

Khyeena swished her tail understanding, then hopped down towards her. “He’s down in the Ratways, but you should hurry. Thalmor swarmed in an hour before you arrived. You owe me an adventure.”

“Soon.” The Falmer grinned and the two clasped hands before she slipped behind a door near the bar. 

The Ratways definitely were a stark contrast to the tavern she was just in. Her sensitive nose caught wind of the Thalmor and they were close. She crouched low and took a breath. Her amethyst eyes began to glow as her fangs started to grow along with her claws. The shift was fluid, graceful and above all, swift. She shook her lupine body and arched her back. A feral snarl left her maw as she pounced the Thalmor mage guarding the next room leading further in to the sewers. Claw and fang tore through moonstone armor and cloth until she was certain there were no more agents around. She trotted onwards startling a crazed man who sealed himself with a cell and scurried like a rat to the back corner. She snorted then caught the scent of her quarry. The werewolf approached a door decorated with an array of locking mechanisms. This must be where Esbern lives... Isilmé assumed. She scratched lightly on the door with her claws.

“Go away!” An old voice shouted. 

“Esbern? Open the door. I’m a friend”   
“What?!” The old Blade exclaimed before adding frantically, “No, that’s not me! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

The Dragonborn growled softly then sighed, her wolf fading back within her as she stood up and dusted herself off. “It’s alright. Delphine sent me to find you.” She pleaded gently, “We need your help against the dragons.” A slat on the door open and Isilmé could barely make out an old Nord, in his early fifties at the least with dull grey-brown eyes watching her.

“We?” He repeated suspiciously, “Who are you? Are you working with the Thalmor?”

 _Damn, Delphine wasn’t was kidding about him being paranoid_. The Falmer thought as she shook her head. “By Talos, no. I’m who the Blades have been seeking. _Zu’u Dovahkiin._ ” 

Upon hearing the language of the Dovah leave her lips, Esbern seemed to stiffen in great alarm. “Dragonborn?” He said in reverence and Isilmé noticed life returning to his eyes, “Then... then there is still hope. Come! Come inside. Quickly.” He tugged on the door which clattered from the chains holding it closed. He chuckled sheepishly, holding a finger in the air silently asking her to wait a moment. She stood there, warily looking over her shoulder fearing an ambush all while listening to chains and padlocks clanking on the other side of the door. “Come in, come in!” He urged and she wandered in cautiously.

“So,” He began quietly closing the door behind him, “Delphine keeps up the fight after all these years. I thought she realized that it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago...”

“Esbern, we need to leave now.” The Dragonborn urged constantly glancing at the door, “The Thalmor found and I don’t know when they might send reinforcements.”

“So what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else.” He sighed dejectedly, “Besides, I’m tired of running.”

“You talking about Alduin. The literal end of the World?”

Esbern nodded forlorn, “Oh yes. It’s all been foretold. The end has begun. The World-Eater has returned and only the Dragonborn can defeat him. But it’s hopeless. The gods have forsaken us... left us to our fate as Alduin’s plaything.”

A low growl rumbled from Isilmé throat, she and her dragon growing tired of this man’s loss of spirit. “ _Ruth mey_.” She rumbled causing Esbern to look up at her, “All is not lost. I’m Dragonborn and I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. If you wish to continue hiding and simpering like a cowardly rat, I will leave you to it or you can join me and travel with me to see Delphine.” Weighing her words in alarm, Esbern gave her a weak nod, feeling as though his faith was restored by the Falmer’s mere presence. She instructed him to gather what he needed while she kept a vigil for trouble. Occasionally, she glanced over her shoulder and watched Esbern collect a couple of old tomes then after strapping a strange blade to his waist, he turned and smiled at her. The two navigated through the Ratways, finishing off the Thalmor reinforcements and Esbern cleared his throat as they reached the stables. Khyeena was there with Sylph and another horse saddled and ready to go. 

“Don’t worry Isilmé, the Guild and I will delay the haughty High Elves for as long as possible. Send me a letter when you get to safety.” The Cat smiled as she whistled and an owl screeched from above. Nodding, Isilmé hugged her friend tightly before she and Esbern scrambled into their saddles and sprinted off, a thick fog from the lake rolling in, concealing them. Once out of sight, Khyeena snapped her claws causing the fog to recede and she swished her tail proudly. 

“You have a strange taste in allies.” The old Nord stated as they brought their horses to a brisk trot once they passed Ivrastead. The elf chuckled as she shook her head. They are more than allies. They were and still are her family. 

They took the road leading to Helgen only to divert towards faint trail away from the street. Isilmé had scouted the route once before for Ulfric and Ralof when they all escaped the burning city. She didn’t dare turn back. She suddenly stopped when a strange scent whisked by her and she held her hand up for Esbern to stay put. Before he could question the Dragonborn, the Falmer leapt silently from her saddle into the trees barely making a sound. Esbern looked around anxiously, his calloused hands radiating magicka as he scanned the area behind him and above. Sylph turned her heads to a disturbance on the right and snorted. The old Nord turned as well to find a white beast clamping its jaws tightly around an assassin bearing the Aldmeri sigil on his shoulder. He blinked his eyes in horror only to give a confused stare as the white beast that was once there had vanished with Isilmé in its place. 

“What was that?”

She lifted her head to his voice, a brow quirked curiously. He then shook his head claiming that he was seeing things.

Unbeknownst to him, she sighed in relief. “Elenwen certainly wasted no time sending one of the Claws of Auri-El after us.” She stated as she dragged the body under a thick brush then wiped her hands clean with a rag in her saddle bag. “Thankfully these assassins only travel solo.” 

“Why?” Esbern questioned then added accusingly, “And for that matter, how do you know?”

“I was a slave under Elenwen’s care. Hated it but I learned as much as I could about them. The Claws are some the best assassins in Summerset and often boasted being able to go toe-to-toe with the Dark Brotherhood.” She stated calmly hoisting herself back into the saddle, “‘ _Know thy enemy_ ’ as the saying goes. Come one. Riverwood isn’t far from here.”

Once safely within the walls of the Sleeping Giant Inn, Isilmé wandered down to Delphine’s secret room where the Breton’s face seemed to gloss over with relief and hope. While letting the two reunite and catch up a bit, Isilmé gathered her items from the chest in the back of the room and once changed into the armor Euroland crafted for her, Delphine beckoned her down to the table.

“Here it is. Come, let me show you,” Esbern beckoned urgently then tapped on the map along with scanning through an old text, “Right here. Sky Haven Temple. It was constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach during their conquest for Skyrim. This is where the built Alduin’s Wall.” Delphine and Isilmé glanced at each other, both shrugging in confusion. Neither of them had even heard of it and unfortunately, Esbern caught on. His eyes widen in disbelief. He gave an exasperated sigh. He explained in length that Alduin’s Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all that they knew of the World Eater and his return, part history and part prophecy. Unsurprisingly, its location had been lost for many centuries. Until now.

“So, the Wall wasn’t lost or destroyed. It was merely forgotten.” Isilmé clarified, “And it’s located in a place called Sky Haven Temple in the Reach?”

He firmly nodded. “Correct, Dragonborn.”

“I know the area of the Reach Esbern’s talking about. Its near what is now known as Karthspire, in the Karth River canyon.” Delphine explained, “We can meet you there.” Isilmé nodded in agreement. They would draw less attention, as well as prove harder to capture. Delphine showed her the best possible route. She would take the road south through Falkreath since it was the most direct path. The Dragonborn lifted her head and gave a grin. 

“I’ll meet you both at Karthspire.”

Soon enough, the three had split up from Riverwood with Isilmé riding towards Falkreath. She was scribbling two letters when a tawny owl descended from above and perched itself upon Sylph’s head. The mare snort and nearly threw her rider but reluctantly calmed when Isilmé patted her neck. The bird clacked its beak and gently nipped the corner of her letters. One was for Khyeena and the other was for Usaeleí. It was then she noticed a letter clenched in its talons and he dropped the parchment in to her opened palm. Quickly scanning the letter, noting the scent of jasmine etched in the ink, she nodded and handed the letters to the owl. The silent creature wrapped his claws around each roll of parchment with care, then disappeared within the skies above. Sylph glanced at Isilmé as she chuckled. “Only Khyeena would have a pet owl intelligent enough to find me.”

She made camp near the Karth River for the evening, glancing upwards when she heard the roar of a dragon. She huffed softly, then drew _Dawnbreaker_ , spun around and winced when Hircine gripped the blade from her attack. “Your reflexes are improving.” He noted proudly as she withdrew the sword. He snapped his fingers igniting the small fire near her bedroll and sat down watching her fish for her supper. While her kill roasted over the fire, the Huntsman continued his lessons with his daughter since he noticed she was still struggling to conjure the Spear and he decided to give her a few extra lessons.

“Isilmé, you’re trying a little too hard.” He said as he gently took her hand. He had her relax her grip. “Just extend your hand out, like this. Relax.” 

“Like this?” She asked as she mimicked his gesture. He nodded and mirrored her. “Clear your mind. Picture the weapon in your mind then exhale.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes in meditation as Hircine watched silvery orbs of light begin to form the shape of a staff within her outstretched hand. 

“Close your hand.” She did, feeling cold metal against her palm and hesitantly she opened one eye. A silvery spear was in her grasp! She brought it closer to her to examine. It looked nothing like the Spear of Bitter Mercy she had read about in books. The sharp point of the spear was singular and not three pronged like her father’s original weapon. It also had a cut stone swirling with dark purples and serene sapphire blues in the center and radiated a strange power similar to her own. 

“The reason why it appears different to you is simple. The Spear is conforming to your power.” The Huntsman explained then added softly, “This form suits you. Now let us train.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah translations-
> 
> Ruth mey: Old fool


	9. Meeting Parthurnaax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé meets Paarthurnax

“I didn’t know you could read Akavirian symbolism, Dragonborn.” Esbern stated in surprise as he, Delphine and Isilmé wandered into the temple after dealing with the savage Reachmen. They had just solved two strange Akaviri pedestal puzzles when the Falmer gave Esbern a look that was equally confusing. “I didn’t know I could either...” She admitted as she ran her hand gently, appreciatively across the carved stones along the walls. She and the old Nord were admiring the beautiful artwork etched into the rocks with such care while Delphine was up ahead scanning the stones impatiently.

“Remarkable, simply remarkable. Well preserved, too. Notice how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil. The whole place appears to be a shrine to Reman.” Esbern mumbled reverently to Isilmé who nodded curiously. Esbern’s eyes were excitedly studying the stone work with great iinterest. “Reman Cyrodiil, as you know, ended the Akaviri invasion under mysterious circumstances. Then after the so-called ‘battle’ of Pale Pass, the Akaviri went into his service, thus becoming the foundation stone of the Second Empire.”

“Esbern,” Delphine huffed, “We’re here to find Alduin’s Wall.”

“You mean that wall up ahead?”

The two Blades turned towards where the Falmer was pointing and couldn’t help but gawk at the massive wall expanding before what appeared to be a gathering chamber for meals. The three jogged over to masterpiece. The Wall looked like it was carved from ebony or perhaps obsidian as it was black in color and in the light of their torches, gave off a smooth, shiny finish. While she lit the braziers, Isilmé listened to Esbern mumble quietly as he searched for the clue they were seeking. Delphine had found some ancient Blade armor and a few swords that were in pristine condition in another room and was bringing a sheathed blade to the Dragonborn when Esbern let a shout of dismay and excitement. As he explained a panel with what appeared to be Alduin plummeting to the ground with three ancient Nord warriors surrounding him, he motioned to the strange symbol leaving the Nords’ mouths. 

“That’s the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’” Esbern finally said, “Maybe a ‘Shout’ directly related to dragons specifically or Alduin in particular.”

“So, we’re looking for a ‘Shout’?” Delphine questioned in surprise. She turned towards Isilmé, “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?"

“If I did, it would make battling them much easier,” Shrugged the Dragonborn then an idea popped into her head. “But maybe Arngeir might know or the other Greybeards perhaps.”

Delphine rubbed her temple irritably. She was afraid of that answer. She had hoped to avoid asking those old fools anything. But now they had no choice. Isilmé nodded but as she turned to leave, Delphine gripped her shoulder. “Before you leave, we need to strengthen our numbers,” The Breton stated, “if you find anyone you think would make a good recruit, bring them here. But, being a Blade is a lifelong commitment. Their loyalty has to be with us once they’re in.” Isilmé nodded then blinked when she held up a sword in a scabbard. There was a glowing inscription along the sheathe. She took the scabbard then drew the sword with ease. It was long, slender like a katana. Made from a mixture of ebony and dragon bone. The hilt and guard were carved from a dragon’s fang and the blade itself seemed to pulse with purple and black energy. Possibly an ancient enchantment.enchantment.

“A blade made specifically by a Dragonborn for a Dragonborn.” Esbern explained, “The enchantment greatly affects dragons. At least that’s what I can see. I believe the texts referred to this blade as Dragonbane.” Returning the blade to its scabbard, Isilmé waved farewell and left the temple. She had a long journey back to High Hrothgar.

“Sky guard you. Welcome back, Dragonborn.” Arngeir smiled as he lifted his head from his book. The pale elf gave him a bow but her eyes told the Greybeard that she was on a mission. He set his book down on the table beside him and gestured for her to ask her request. “I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin.” She said biting her lip nervously. Arngeir’s silvery grey eyes widen in shock then furrowed with controlled anger. He crossed his arms over his chest. When he questioned her about her sources, his harsh tone softened slightly when she explained that she discovered it at Alduin’s Wall thanks to the Blades. “The Blades?! Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their recklessness knows no bounds. They’ve always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom.” The Greybeard growled harshly then snapped accusingly at the Falmer, “Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades? Be used for their own purposes?!”

Isilmé’s eyes bled from purple to gold in anger before she took a deep breath, calming both the wolf and the dragon. “I can see that you won’t help me. I respect your decision.” She gave another small bow, “I will leave you be.” Her master averted his gaze as he heard her footsteps growing farther away. He reached for his book when he felt the room shake suddenly and he turned to find Einarth staring down at him, a look of disappointment creased on his old face. He pointed at the Dragonborn. “Arngeir, Rek los Dovahkiin, Strudu’ul. Rek fen tinvaak Paarthurnax.” Einarth said firmly and Arngeir heaved a sigh. His fellow Greybeard was correct as he got up and hurried to catch up to the Falmer. Just as she was about to open the door to leave, he called out to her and she glanced over her shoulder.

“Dragonborn... wait.” He said bowing in apology as she faced him, “Forgive me... I was intemperate and allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty and that the decision to help you or not is not mine to make.” She gave him a weak smile of understanding. While they returned to the others, she asked once more if he knew the Shout and he shook his head. He knew of the name Dragonrend but not the Words of Power that made up the Shout. When they mentioned that they did not regret this loss, she gave him a curious look to which he added that such a violent Shout did not belong to the Way of the Voice. 

“If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?” The Greybeard saw the Dragonborn heave a sigh and droop her shoulders.

“Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer your question, if he so chooses.”

“But you said I’m not ready to have an audience with him, let alone talk with him”

“You still aren’t ready, Dragonborn.” Arngeir repeated as he rubbed his temples, “But thanks to the Blades, you have questions that only Paarthurnax can answer.” He and the other masters motioned for her to follow them outside to the training yard. They led her to a lit brazier before an archway where a raging blizzard blocked the path. The icy wind was unnaturally cold and even had the Snow Elf shivering slightly. She stood by the brazier, feeling the warmth of the flames against her skin and her shivering ceased. Arngier explained that the path to Paarthurnax laid beyond the gate. He then whispered three Words of Power to her causing the dragon to stir once more within her. _Lok, Vah, Koor_. _Clear Skies_ she felt her soul say but her thoughts were diverted back to her master. 

“I will grant you my understanding of _Clear Skies._ This is your final gift from us, Daughter of the Hunt. Use it well.” He waved his hand towards the swirling storm before them, “ _Clear Skies_ will blow away this mist, but only for a time. The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked on lightly. Keep moving, stay focused and you will reach the summit. Sky guard you, Isilmé” After this, the Greybeards returned to their temple as Isilmé faced the storm and Shouted. “ _ **Lok Vah Koor!!!**_ ” She Shouted, her Thu’um piercing through the storm like an arrow, dispersing it and allowing her to pass through unharmed. Thus, her long trek up the mountain began. 

It took her surprisingly only two hours to reach the mountain’s summit and she only had to deal with the blizzard and a frost troll. She feared that at this height, the air would be too thin to breathe, but to her relief it wasn’t. The summit was surprisingly calm, covered with soft powdery snow. She looked around finding no trace of anyone living here. She then noticed a Word Wall. It was old and worn down on one side, like something massive constantly perched on it. She reached out to touch the stone when she heard a menacing roar from above. She drew her swords and spun around just in time to see a dragon land before her, his neck arched and wings outstretched, like a bird ready to take flight. His tail coiled around him and he tucked his wings close to his body. At first, she thought he was Alduin until she noticed a few things off on his appearance He was missing a piece of his horn on one side. His scales were a dull grey with flecks of gold along his belly and spikes. His eyes, were an opaque blue. 

“ **Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you and what brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?** ” He spoke in a voice as old as time. It was soothing, calming and gentle. Isilmé blinked in shock as she stood there staring at the majestic creature who tilted his head in a canine like fashion of curiosity. He then brought his head towards her, which was as big as she was tall and gave her a gentle nudge that knocked her over on to her back. “ **Fear not, little one. I will not harm you.** ”

Shaking her head from the initial shock and relieved that the dragon had no intent in harming her, Isilmé stood back up, sheathed her weapons and chuckled nervously. “You’re the master of the Greybeards?” She asked then added quickly, “I hope you do not find me rude, but I was not expecting you to be a dragon.” A soft rumbling resonated from the dragon’s chest. It sounded like chuckling. “ **I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you... mal Dovahkiin. As for the Greybeards, they see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise.”** He stated before adding with another laugh and scratching his chin with the claw on his wing, “ **Hehe. It is true that I am old... Forgive me. It has been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to temptation to prolong our speech.** ”

“Why live alone on a mountain if you love conversation?” The Snow Elf questioned curiously. 

“ **Evenaar bahlok. To extinguish hunger.** ” Her face twisted once again in confusion. 

“To extinguish... hunger?”

Paarthurnax nodded. “ **There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. Dreh ni nahkip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar... denial of the greater. You have indulged my weakness for speech. Now, tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?** ” 

“I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout.” Isilmé informed the Master, “Can you teach me?”

“ **Hmm. Drem. Patience, mal dovah. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones!** ” To her great surprise, Paarthurnax reared his head, drops of gold and crimson leaking from his jaws then turning his head to the Word Wall behind her, released a torrent of flame with a mighty roar that rattled the Elf to her bones. The dragon within her seemed to uncoil itself in excitement as Isilmé noticed her skin glow with a faint golden light. _Yol Toor Shul_ was what she heard the old dragon Shout. Paarthurnax nodded at his work before turning towards her. “ **A gift, Dovahkiin. Shul. Understand Fire as the Dov do. Match it and greet me. Not as Elf or Daedra but as dovah!!** ” Isilmé’s purple eyes began to glow with an array of different colors as her dragon made its presence known and as she inhaled deeply, a deep growl resonated from her throat. She turned her attention to Paarthurnax, her Thu’um leaving her maw and she let loose a powerful Shout.

“ **Yol Toor Shul!!** ” 

A massive spiral of fire, littered with a beautiful display of color engulfed the old dragon with the heated blanket. _Yes! Sossedov los mul!_ He thought excitedly. The Dragonblood was strong within this young woman. It had been too long since he had had the pleasure in speaking with another dovah. As the flames dispersed around him leaving him unscathed, Paarthurnax’s old eyes could see a faint white and blue outline of Isilmé’s dragon soul. It looked similar to a Frost dragon. Elegant, regal almost. But as the flames finally diminished, the Dragonborn’s soul settled back within its owner. He gave a purr of appreciation before his tone turned grave and serious. He maneuvered around her to perch himself on the worn-down Word Wall.

“ **You seek your weapon against Alduin but alas, I do not know the Thu’um you seek, Dovahkiin** ,” The old dragon admitted before lowering his head, “ **Krosis, apologies. It cannot be known to me. The joore- mortals- created it as a weapon against the dov. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even comprehend its concepts.** ”

“You mean, this Shout was created by mortals? Not dragons?”

Paarthurnax nodded his head once again. The elf drooped her shoulders. Now how was she to learn it? She needed to stop Alduin. She needed to learn this Shout. “ **Drem, mal dovah. All in good time. A question for you I have** ” The great creature rumbled reassuringly, “ **Why do you wish to learn this Thu’um?** ” Isilmé tilted her head to his question. The answer should be obvious to the creature, still the Dragonborn indulged him. She explained that she needed to stop the World-Eater, to fulfil her destiny as the Dragonborn of prophecy. The dragon closed his eyes in deep thought as he digested her words before opening them once more and cleared his voice. It was not the answer he wanted her to give. They weren’t wrong however; these words were not her own. “ **Yes, Alduin... Zeymah. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with the firstborn. They carry the most burden. But why must you stop Alduin?** ” Paarthurnax dug his claws into the stone then lifted her chin carefully with his wing claw. “ **Tell me in your own words. Not from what others have said.** ”

“I... This world, Skyrim... all of Tamriel... This is my home.” Isilmé answered honestly. She gestured to world below as she spoke, “I like this world. I do not wish for it to end, especially when there is so much I have not yet learned.” It’s beauty, the family I’ve made here. She thought to herself. Images of Usaeleí, Khyeena, as well as Hircine and the other Princes crossed her mind, followed by her Shield-Siblings within the Companions and the Greybeards. Even Delphine and Esbern. They were the ones she wished to protect. Paarthurnax gave her a soft yet toothy smile. 

“ **Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, myself included, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps,** ” The Master hummed in thought before looking down at the elf once more, “ **Perhaps this world is mere the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?** ”

“I would not however the next world will have to take care of itself.” She stated but she understood what he meant. Much like how life and death are eternally linked, there must be balance. In time, her world will end, much like how her life would too, end. But with that end, new life will begin. Paarthurnax could see this within her gaze and he hummed pleased. She may just be as wise as he one day. One day. But she had indulged his weakness for speech long enough. Just as he told her he would answer her question, he asked another. He questioned her as to why he lived at the peak of _monahven_ , the mountain he called home. The dragon tilted his head in confusion when the Falmer giggled softly. 

“You said you’d answer my question but I will answer yours regardlessly,” She glanced around, “I’m not sure. Dragons like mountains? Possibly because it gives them a better vantage over their surroundings and makes them feel secured?” 

“ **Hahahaha. You are a most intriguing Dovahkiin. True, we do like mountains for security, however; this mountain in particular is very sacred. Many have forgotten but I have not. This place is where the Ancient Tongues, the first mortal Masters I taught to use the Thu’um.** ” He paused glancing towards a shimmering near her to which she turned as well. “ **This is where Aludin, dii Zeymah, was defeated.** ” Isilmé could not help but notice the tone of sadness within Paarthurnax’s voice. He went on to explain that the Ancient Tongues, who were known as Hakon, Gormlaith and Felldir, used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple the World-Eater, however it was the Kel or Elder Scroll the ancients used to cast Alduin adrift the currents of Time. He added that they hoped he would be gone, forever lost. “ **Fools. I knew better.** ” Growled the old dragon. He warned the ancients against using the Kel. “ **Tiid bo amativ” he furthered explained to her, “Time flows ever forward. I knew where he would emerge but not when.** ”

When Daughter of the Hunt questioned how any of this would help her, Paarthurnax once again growled in thought before answering. He went on to explain that Time was shattered upon the mountain and he motioned with his head to the shimmering distortion nearby. He added that if she brought back the Scroll that was used to throw Alduin forward into time, she would be able to learn the Dragonrend Shout from the ones who created it by reliving the past. She gave an exasperated groan before flopping on her back in the snow to stare at the sky. “An Elder Scroll... That will be difficult to find but perhaps, Esbern or Arngeir would know.” She sighed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah: (i believe Paarthurnax translates most of the Dragon tongue)
> 
> Mal- small  
> Dovah- dragon  
> Stem- patience  
> Kalpa- (I think this means creation? Not sure  
> Lein vokiin- unmake the World (mundus)  
> Pruzah- Good  
> Zeymah- brother


	10. The Oghmun Infinum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking an Elder Scroll, Isilmé is directed to a mage known simply as Septimus. Little does she know, another is watching her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Septimus and Herma Mora.... Lets get this over with shall we?
> 
> Chapter still in the works

“Ah, Dragonborn. Welcome back.”

“Hey Delphine,” Isilmé sighed then gestured to her new companions. “As I promised, I found new recruits. This is Erikur. He’s from Rorikstead. The Orc is Ghorbash the Ironhand. They helped me fell a dragon on my way back here.” She then turned towards the Breton who studied the new recruits intently and smiled. She nodded towards the sleeping quarters for the two men to get settled in. She would induct them into the Blades later. The women then headed towards the training grounds outside where they saw Esbern and his atronachs building a forge area for later use. The Dragonborn waved the old lore keeper over to them and the trio sat under a few trees while Isilmé relayed what she had learned. Though she made sure to withhold the information on Paarthurnax. 

The Breton scoffed irritably, “So, you went to them and they refused to teach you the Shout?"

Isilmé shook her head as she combed her long hair and reached for her dagger to cut off the split ends. “They didn’t refuse Delphine. They genuinely didn’t know the Words that make up this Shout. They only know of the Shouts that the Dragons used themselves. The Shout we’re looking for was made by the Ancient Tongues.” As she continued to explain her need to find an Elder Scroll, Esbern nodded gravely then held up a hand, a thought entering his mind, before sprinting back into the temple. He then returned with a book with what appeared to be a scroll on the cover. As Isilmé examined the contents, she contorted her face baffled at the writings. It looked like the ravings of a mad man. She closed the book and found the author’s name. “Who’s Septimus Signus?” She stared at Esbern who gave her a nervous chuckle. This was going to be a long tale.

“Am I in the right place?” Isilmé questioned as she looked at the iceberg out on icefloe below the College of Winterhold. Sylph snorted as if to say _How should I know?_ Isilmé took a tentative step on to the ice and sighed in relief that it held. She motioned for the mare to remain while she continued towards the large iceberg ahead. She slipped a few times on the slippery surface but managed to successfully make it to a wooden door leading into the icy cavern. With a bit of effort, the Dragonborn managed to open the door where she noticed a figure in blue robes pacing before a strange bronze door. Dwemer by the look of it. The Falmer tilted her head in confusion when he spun around and stared at her with crazed yet curious eyes. “Septimus, I presume?” He merely nodded, his stare making her feel uncomfortable.

“The ice entombs the heart. The Bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments. The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. The Elder Scroll gave me insight deeper than the deep ones. Yes.” Rabbled the old mage and as if he could guess that she was going to ask him about his knowledge on the Scrolls he added, “I have seen enough to know their fabric. Their warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is no longer in my possession.”

Isilmé could feel her face warp with a mixture of confusion and surprise. Was this man all right? “So, where is it if I may ask?”

“One block lifts the other. Septimus will give you what you need, but you must give me what I seek in return.”

“And what would that be?”

She gave out a yell of surprise when she felt the cold bite of a blade swipe across her cheek. She barely saw the old man move, yet he managed to draw a small iron dagger that was now stained with her blood. She felt her rage boiling. Just as she reached for her blade, Septimus held up a small bronze sphere roughly the size of her palm. He then promptly shoved it into her grasp before dripping her blood in a strange cylinder filled with a blackish red liquid. “You gave the last thing Septimus needed so now he gives you what you need,” He snickered before glancing over his shoulder watching her heal her wound disgruntled, “Have you heard of Blackreach?” She shook her head. Isilmé opened her mouth but was shushed by the crazy man who continued to explain. He took her map and circled the location of a dwemer ruin known as Alftand. He explained that through the Dwemer ruin with the aid of the sphere he had given her, would grant her access to Blackreach, a city under their very feet. 

“What are you going to do with my blood?” Cringed the Falmer as she witnessed the old man hold up the strange device now sloshing with her blood.

The old man had an uneasy, well, unhinged would be a better term, on his face as he turned to gesture at the massive brass contraption behind him. He went on to claim that this aritifact was actually a Dwemer lockbox and sealed within was the heart of a god. Isilmé could not help but roll her eyes at that claim. He continued to explain that the sealing structures of the lockbox was complex and dwemer blood would be the way to open it. “But Septimus was clever, so clever. I believe that if I mixed the blood of Altmer, Bosmer, Dunmer, Orsimer and Falmer then I could trick the box into thinking I am one of the Dwemer!” Chattered Septimus and Isilmé shuddered at the realization that the liquid that he just mixed her blood into was filled with the blood of the other races of Mer. Septimus then poured the blood into a strange looking device with a sharp needle at the end of the tube. She grimaced when the man suddenly plunged the sharp odject into his chest, cover her mouth nauseously as she couldn’t help but watch the blood disappear into him.

There was a loud groaning, grinding of metal against metal as the rings upon the lockbox creaked and rotated around. A series of metallic clinks and clicks reverberated in the cave of ice until the rings descended below and a long tube like hallway elongated into a massive chamber on the other side. Septimus rushed inside like a nixhound to an ash-hopper, his feet pounding across the metal. Isilmé turned to leave when she heard the old Nord give a shriek of disbelief and disappointment.

“What?! What is this?! It’s... This isn’t what I was looking for!” Septimus cried out in dismay as the Dragonborn rushed into the box to find the old man grumbling. He was suddenly lifted in to the air cackling madly before his body vanished and his robes flopped back to the ground. To Isilmé’s surprise though, Septimus was gone, as though he just merely ceased to exist. It was then she noticed what had made the now non-existent Nord so upset. In the center of the chamber was a pedestal with a book resting upon it. As she circled the large book, Isilmé was mortified to find that the covering binding the pages together was actually stitched skin. Whether it was human, mer or animal, she did not know nor did she want to. She did however sense that there was something otherworldly about it. Vaguely familiar, yet not. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The air around her felt heavy and reeked heavily of old ink, blood and oil. 

“Ah... It is good to see you again,” A old slow voice hummed seemingly in delight. “I see your thirst for knowledge still lingers...”

The Dragonborn narrowed her eyes as they bled to gold. The voice rumbled deeply with laughter making her hair stand on end. It sounded familiar but she was unsure where she had heard it before. She let out a growl when a writhing mass of tendrils made of what could only be described as ink emerged in front of her. The writhing mass shuddered and she raised her sword defensively when a multitude of eyes opened and blinked sluggishly at her. Everything about it screamed Daedra. It was not a lesser daedra like a dremora, no. Levitating before her was indeed a Daedric Prince. The Prince of Forbidden Knowledge, the Lord of Fate and Memories.

“Hermaeus Mora?” 

“Indeed. You have no need to worry Dragonborn, I will not harm you so you may sheathe that sword of yours.” The tendrils twitched like many tails. The fact that all those eyes staring at her made her very unwilling to withdraw Dawnbreaker so he continued to speak, “I am most pleased to see my Oghma Infinium now free from this infernal lockbox. Septimus has indeed been a worthy tool but his role has become obsolete.” The Dragonborn glanced at the pile of clothes beside the stand. What actually happened to him though? Another growl left her throat when Hermaeus Mora laughed eerily when he stated that it was no concern of hers adding that Septimus was already on death’s door even before she arrived. Already she was liking Mora less and less. But she reminded herself that not many Daedric Princes cared for their followers’ well-being.

She flinched when one of his tendrils lifted the skin-bound book up and presented it to her. Isilmé flicked her gaze from the creepy book to Hermaeus Mora’s many eyes in confusion and distrust. 

“This book contains all the knowledge that Xarxes had obtained throughout his life along with some of Shalidor’s teachings. Take it...” He insisted.

“What’s the catch?” Isilmé stated coldly, “Daedra seldom gifts items or artifacts without a price, so what do you want from me?” 

The writhing mass recoiled in feign innocence. “So distrusting like you father. You wound me... Can I not spoil my niece?” When he saw that Isilmé wasn’t fooled he narrowed his eyes slightly but the inky tentacles quivered in amusement. She definitely had her mother’s ability to see his true intentions. “I do not require your assistance at the given time. We will meet again, Isilmé. I leave the book in your care but be warned, once you have read it, the Oghman Inifinium will to my realm.” He unceremoniously dropped the large book into her arms much to her dismay. She cursed at him before turning her back to leave refusing to remain in the iceberg for much longer. Just as she was at the mouth of the lockbox, Hermaeus Mora spoke once more and what he said made her stop in her tracks.

“Just so you know, he still remembers you and your promise.” Isilmé spun around only to find that she was alone.

Sylph whinnied worriedly when the Dragonborn returned to the shore safely and nuzzled her snout against the Falmer’s cheek affectionately. Isilmé absentmindedly patted the mare’s neck, the Daedra’s words lingering in her mind before she shook her head reminding herself of her mission. She needed to get to Alftand but first she would resupply in Winterhold before continuing on her journey. Thankfully, Khyeena had returned to Winterhold for her studies and the Khajiit was more than excited to see her. The midnight color cat was eager to introduce the Dragonborn to her professor who was also pleased to make her acquaintance. They even brought her to one of the classrooms where a large levitating orb of some sort was pulsing, radiating magicka. It was decorated with a series of symbols and runes that looked very alien to her. 

“I was hoping that you could translate for us if any of these symbols are Falmer.” Khyeena admitted.

Apparently, they had an expert on Dwemer and an expert on Ayleid come around with no luck on. Isilmé offered to try. She circled the Orb intently, studying each symbol and rune with care, then after a few hours Falmer turned towards her friend and sadly shook her head. The Dragonborn also admitted that the symbols are much older than Falmer or any other language that she had read. She then added that there was something hidden within the orb. What it was, Isilmé knew not. She did however suggest to her friend and professor to try looking for someone who specializes in Daedric or possibly forgotten languages. After visiting with Khyeena, the Falmer retired to her room at the inn and proceeded to get a good night’s rest. She would need all the rest she could get since she had no inkling of what to expect down in this Blackreach.


	11. Blackreach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé delves down to Blackreah

The morning arrived along with the crowing of a rooster outside and Isilmé rose from her bed. She donned her armor and tied her hair into a braided bun then once certain she had all her items packed and weapons strapped, she left the room snagged some jazzabay grapes for breakfast and left for the stables. Sylph was already saddled and waiting, impatiently pawing at the ground. The mare tossed her head chomping at her bit as the Dragonborn lifted herself into the saddle and urged her out of Winterhold. A snowstorm was raging once they were miles away from the Hold but Isilmé was able to safely guide Sylph to their destination which had a bridge leading into Alftand. Carefully, they walked along the old bridge, silently thanking, praising the gods for the safe passage yet just as they reached the other side and stood before the entrance to the Dwemer ruins, the bridge collapsed stranding them.them.

“Looks like we can’t go back that way huh?” 

Sylph nickered warily.

The Falmer soon realized that the bronze door leading into the ruins were open as did the horse who walked on through, out of the cold. The cavernous entrance was large enough for the two to walk and while cautiously exploring, they found remnants of a previous expedition that did not survive the storm. Further down they delved encountering some dwarven spheres and spiders that were patrolling the halls and Isilmé was more than grateful that they didn’t seem to notice them. The Dragonborn soon discovered strange looking tents littering the floor below them and the chittering sounds of chaurus skittering across the stones made the two halt their progress. Isilmé let a small gasp. A pale figure hunched over by a fire, with blind eyes was staring at her. These were the Falmer, or what they were now. The twisted form shifted reaching for its chitin blade, approached them rasping as a small chaurus clacked its mandibles menacingly.

Not wasting anytime, Isilmé leapt on to Sylph who reared, whinnying loudly; her cry echoing loudly within the chamber causing the chaurus and its master to double from the earpiercing shrill. The Betrayed may be blind but with overly sensitive hearing any loud noise could stun them. The mare leapt over the creatures and sprinted down the halls with Isilmé firing her bow at any obstacle that crossed their path. After a few hours, they found a secured room with brass doors surrounding them that not even the Betrayed or their pets could bypass. The two sighed in relief and Isilmé found a silver bowl on a stone table. After wiping it down with a cloth, she filled it with water and motioned for Sylph to drink, to which the mare guzzled it down happily. While she drank, Isilmé took out the small sphere that Septimus had given her and began walking around the room until she found a strange pedestal with a weird indentation in the center.

Sylph snorted suspiciously as she watched her mistress fiddle with the sphere until it fit snugly into the slot. There was a low rumbling beneath them as some stones dropped revealing a staircase leading to another set of doors. The two cautiously made their way through the doors and their eyes widen in utter disbelief. They saw waterfalls cascading down to pools below that seemed to be using the water for energy. There were giant fungi that produced an alluring yet otherworldly light. Massive glowing stones littered the landscape. She could even make out a massive dwarven city ahead with what looked like a chandelier of sorts. It was massive, round possibly as big as Dragonsreach. It was glowing a golden light and emitted a warmth similar to the sun above the ground. There were other dwarven houses along the strange roads below. 

Just as Isilmé was about to move forward, the mare stood in front of her, halting her progress. “What is it, girl?” Asked the Falmer but she soon discovered what had made the horse wary. Wandering the streets were more chaurus and Betrayed. There were also active Dwarven Centurions and Spheres roaming the area as though on patrol. Isilmé had a bad feeling that these machinations were not just going to let them pass. Sylph nudged the Dragonborn, her head staring at a tower not too far from the city. “You think that’s where the Elder Scroll is?” The mare nodded as her rider climbed on and the two walked along the shadows within a river leading to the city. They wanted to avoid as much trouble as possible.

As they walked up some stairs, Isilmé’s sensitive nose picked up the scents of something other than the current denizens of this Nightmare City. She urged Sylph further into the city with her bow drawn as she continuously searched the shadows for any threats. She managed to silently snipe a few chaurus and now that her eyes completely adjusted to the low light in the hellish world, she silently marveled at the alien beauty. Sylph suddenly tugged on her reins anxiously and before Isilmé could attempt to calm the mare, she heard some call out to her.

“Halt! Who goes there?!” Shouted a man and she whipped her head around to find not a soldier but a Nord dressed in just filthy rags. At first, she believed that they were survivors of another expedition but her wolf was on edge. No... not a soldier. Slave. “She looks like our masters, but not at the same time.” She heard another man on her left say. Isilmé sniffed the air quietly then gasped. They were being surrounded!

“Sylph! Go!”

The mare wasted no time and tried to gallop away, however the mare suddenly stumbled and collapsed with a shrilled whinny, throwing off her rider. The Dragonborn hissed as the skin on her palms were scraped and began to bleed. She quickly got up and rushed to the mare’s side to find that she wasn’t moving. She had several poisoned arrows in her flank and one in her shoulder. “Sylph?” Choked as the Falmer knelt down and held the mare’s head. The horse was not breathing, and Isilmé could not hear her sweet friend’s heart either. She was gone. “Quickly! Grab her!!” She heard the men order and she lowered her mount’s head then clenched her fists.

Rage. Her small frame began to ripple as feather-like scales covered her body. Her fangs lengthen as her inner beast emerged, her purple eyes bleeding into a terrifying glowing gold. The wolf like beast let loose a mournful roar. As the men surrounded her, her serpentine tail whipped around pushing them back and she leapt at one of the men closest to her, sinking her fangs into his throat. She clamped hard, her claws digging into his shoulder. With a loud crunch, the man’s head rolled off. Her eyes saw archers on the wall and opened her maw. “ _ **FUS... RO DAH!!!!**_ ” she roared sending the archers flying from their perch to their deaths. As she spun around to finish off the remaining threat, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. Her body was starting to feel like a lump of lead. Still she fought. The men managed to muzzle her snout as they shot another arrow tipped with paralytic poison. She dug her claws into the dirt trying to resist but soon succumbed to the sweet darkness of unconsciousness.  
The last thing she heard before she blacked out was a loud creaking sound coming from the direction of the giant glowing orb hanging over the city.

_Hircine flinched as he felt dread sinking into his stomach. He then glanced at the sound of galloping hooves approaching him. He recognized them as Sylph which had his mind reeling in confusion. But as the mare appeared, his eyes widen as he saw the creature was nothing more than a specter in his realm. He rose abruptly from his throne as Lycana attempted to calm the beast. Sylph moved passed the Pack Master and reared up before the Daedric Prince. She then repeated pawed the ground with her hooves urgently as though trying to say something. Hircine rested a hand upon the specter’s forehead and closed his eyes._

_What is wrong? Why are you here? He asked the mare with his thoughts._

_Sylph snorted urgently. Isilmé, Blackreach. Danger. Couldn’t escape. Couldn’t protect her._

_Hircine ran his claws gently over the steed’s neck. He nodded understandingly at what Isilmé’s mount was needing. The mare, in her final moments was asking that the Father of Man-Beasts to save her friend. He nodded and urged the creature to be at peace as Sylph’s ghostly form faded away and the Huntsman bared his fangs. His gaze crossed paths with Lycana who nodded knowingly. “Go my Lord. I will handle things here.” She said as her master snapped his fingers, his artifact manifesting into his hand and he flicked his wrist as a portal opened before him and without another word entered it_.

When her consciousness returned, the first thing Isilmé was aware of was the pain. Her eyes flew open as she snarled for breath, which only intensified the pain. Sharp pain laced through her ribs and she quickly discovered why it was so difficult to breathe. Cracked ribs, she thought. She noticed she was still in her beast form as she could feel the muzzle still clamped around her snout. She scanned the room, then realizing that she was alone, forced her body to move and stood up. How long had she been out? Hours? Days? She swished her tail and examined herself. She was covered in bruises and cuts along her torso and haunches; some deep and others mere scratches. _What in the name of Shor and Talos did they fucking do to me?_

She felt her body turn to ice in her veins. Along the wall hung several corpses in different stages of decomposition. Some were mere skeletons, others fresh. A few were charred black and one was swollen. She didn’t dare shift back. It seemed that whatever administrations these heathens did to her, her daedric blood or perhaps it was the dragon’s, withstood the tortures. She saw a shallow pool nearby and thought she could at least clean up a bit. On shaky limbs, she managed to walk over to the pond and with a quick sniff was relieved to know that it was clean and fresh. She strolled on in, a pained whimper leaving her throat as the water stung her wounds. Her ears twitch as felt someone unseen from behind shove her under the water and tried to hold her there.  
Isilmé’s felt her lungs burning as her oxygen levels were being deplete and she began to thrash her body in a panic. Just when she thought that she was about to black out once more, the hands that her clutching the scruff of her neck, yanked her back up. The Dragonborn greedily panted for air, her lungs heaving painfully. “I told you we should have shackled her!” She faintly heard one man say.

“She shouldn’t even be awake!” Another shouted in disbelief, “She was given enough poison to knock out ten men!”

She snarled shoving her captors back then using her front paws, pried off the muzzle and although she was weak, she was ready to fight. Before the men could react, her jaws parted as liquid fire dripped from her maw. “ _ **Yol Tool SHUL!!!!**_ ” she roared unleashing a torrent of fiery fury upon her captors leaving nothing but charred husks. She then attempted to limp out of her cell but after a few steps crumpled to the cold stone floor. Her breathing was labored and she barely noticed the ground shaking nor the loud shrieking that accompanied it. Isilmé lay oblivious to it all as her life leaked away. 

The irate dragon, whom had been reawakened from his slumber by the Unrelenting Force Shout that the Dragonborn had used earlier, stomped through the courtyard angrily torching and devouring the Betrayed and their slaves alike. He scoffed as their pitiful magicka attacks and feeble weapons effortlessly bounced off his body. The red and gold dragon snarled once more unleashing intense flames upon his prey. He tore with fang and claws, his long-barbed tail lashed around effortless destroying the dwarven buildings and anyone foolish enough to be in his way. When he heard the Thu’um echo once more nearby, he knew his chance to escape this alien world of blackness had arrived.

Led by the scent of dragon souls coiled peacefully deep within this lone woman, the beast gathered his strength and tore open the chamber roof with his powerful jaws where he saw his prize lay dying. Or so he thought. He was baffled at the form this woman had taken as she lifted her head to stare at him. The intensity of her glowing purple eyes, the fierce determination within them to live earned his respect. But just as quickly as she opened them, they closed as she slipped back into unconsciousness. The dragon lowered his head and with great care, picked her up by the scruff of her neck with his teeth like she was merely a small kitten and left the city heading towards the tower.

The dragon curled up onto some soft moss and gently propped Isilmé against his body for warmth. The dragon waited patiently as he watched the Dragonborn change from her strange daedric form to her normal mortal form. He closed his eyes and a sound resonated from his chest. As he began to sing, his scales shimmered slightly with a warm and soothing light that quickly descended upon the Falmer who slowly began to stir. Isilmé groaned softly and she soon became aware of the deep, loud breathing that was coming from the large creature. She blinked tiredly then slowly turned her head from side to side. 

“You are awake, _mal dovah_.” Crooned the dragon who nudged her small frame with care. “We have _mal tiid._ Even with your _dovah_ and _deyra zos, Zu’u fass_ my power will not work a second time.”

“Wh- Who are you?” She croaked as she sat up.

“ _Zu’u los Vulthuryol, dovahkiin_. I am the former right claw of Alduin and doomed to roam these _ved vulzid_ for all eternity,” He said bowing his head while silent marveled at this woman’s vitality as she managed to stand, albeit unsteadily. She then tilted her head to the side. When she questioned the dragon about what he had meant, Vulthuryol turned his head upwards. He explained that he had tried to steer Alduin from the path of tyranny, as it was in a dragon’s nature to control, but the World-Eater refused to heed his words and banished Vulthuryol to Blackreach as punishment. “Why did you rescue then?” She narrowed her eyes, “Am I to be your plaything?”

The dragon reared back in alarm and he shook his head from side to side. “ _Niid_... You are going to set me free.”

She blinked. “How?”

“By slaying me mal dovah,” He stated matter-of-factly, “and taking my soul with you. Through you, I’ll be able to see the sky again.” He sounded triumphant and excited and the Falmer didn’t sense any malice emanating from his words. He then added while bringing his head down to her level that by absorbing his soul, her wounds would be fully healed and that she still had a task to do. He quirked a scaly brow when he noticed that she had a sorrowful look on his face and he felt her run her hand gently along his snout. She didn’t want to kill him. “You spent so long down here... Is there really no other way to save you?” He heard her whisper. His reptilian eyes widen in shock but soon softened as his very being rumbled with a sad laughter.

“ _Hi los zurun, dovahkiin._ Only a Dragonborn can free me. Besides you sense it too, mal dovah. I cannot leave here on my own.” His tail swished across the ground as he nodded towards her sword strapped to her waist. “Take you blade and drive it through me.”

Isilmé glanced at Dawnbreaker then back at Vulthuryol hesitantly before unsheathing it. She was not pleased with this. “Do not think of this as slaying then _Dovahkiin_. You are sending a _fahdon_ home.” He said lowering his head to the ground before her, “Please send me home.” He closed his eyes only to open them once more when he felt her press her forehead against his cheek. He growled softly as he felt her slowly climb up his neck and he felt the tip of her blade at the base of his skull. “ _Krosis, zeymah. Zu zin hi._ Farewell, Vulthuryol... my friend.” With the last bit of her strength, Isilmé plunged her blade through the dragon’s skull.

“ _Nox... hi... fahdon dovahkiin._ ” Whispered the dying creature as his body began to flake into ribbons of light that swirled around the Falmer and she felt his soul settle with her. With the soul, she felt her internal injuries mending. The cracked bones fixed themselves, the poison had been erased and she felt her body renewed with the new found strength. She sheathed her weapon and rushed to the tower already feeling her strength beginning to wane. She managed to figure out the damned dwarven puzzle and while she waited for the device to lower her prize, she felt a familiar presence approaching. However just as she was about to collect the other-worldly scroll, her strength left her and she collapsed exhausted before the artifact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah Translations:
> 
> Mal Dovah- small dragon
> 
> Mal tiid- little time
> 
> Deyra zos- Daedric Blood
> 
> Zu'u fass- I fear
> 
> Zu'u los Vulthuryol- I am Vulthuryol
> 
> Ved Vulzid- Black Depths
> 
> Niid- No
> 
> Hi los zurun- you are strange
> 
> Fahdon- friend
> 
> Krosis, Zeymah. Zu zin hi.- I'm sorry (apologies) brother. I honor you
> 
> Nox hii- thank you


	12. The Time Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping the depths of Blackreach, Isilmé returns to High Hrothgar.

Hircine growled irritably as he finally manifested into Blackreach and he dusted his shoulders as his golden eyes scanned the alien world around him. His ears flicked forward then back as he heard the charaus skitter around him fearfully. He lifted his head and sniffed the air warily until he caught the scent of his Cub a little way ahead. As he walked along the pathway, the Huntsman caught sight of Sylph’s carcass and approached it then knelt down. Chararus and frostbite spiders had already begun to devour the creature but had left the saddlebag alone. He reached for it and slung it over his shoulder then continued to follow the path to the now demolished dwarven city. She was here but the scent was old, a few hours old he bared his fangs when he noticed a mortal trying to lunge at him. He turned towards the feeble creature as the man started to tremble under his gaze, his golden red aura radiating around him. The Nord stumbled backwards and scrambled away from the Daedric Prince until he cornered the man against the wall.

The Huntsman glowered at the whimpering mortal and turned his stare elsewhere when he caught wind of his cub now closer than before. He sprinted after the scent of snowstar lilies until he stumbled across the bones of the dragon Vulthuryol.

From the footprints in the dirt beside the bones, Hircine surmised that the two didn’t struggle in a furious battle. He traced his claws against the dragon’s skull where he found a crevice made from Dawnbreak and he closed his eyes. He mutter a faint spell then opened his eyes to find a faint vision of what had happened. He saw the dragon carrying Isilmé in her daedric form away from the burning city then lay down with her. He strained to listen to the vision’s conversation then watched as Isilmé climbed up the dragon’s neck and thrust her sword through Vulthuryol’s skull.

“Isilmé where are you?” Mumbled the Prince as he then got his answer. His daughter, now revived from absorbing the dragon’s soul sprinted to the tower behind him and disappeared behind the doors.

He rushed into the tower and found Isilmé collapsed before some machine where he saw the Elder Scroll emitting its strange otherworldly light. He knelt down before the Falmer and felt himself sigh in relief. She was alive but weak from the experience. He knew that the Great Lift wasn’t too far from them. He collected the scroll, then scooped his daughter in his arms, holding her tightly when she made a weak groan. He pressed his forehead against hers in reassurance. “You’re safe little one. I got you.” He whispered then with care left the damnable world of Blackreach with his Isilmé held close to him.

The old dwarven machinery creaked and moaned as the lift brought them to the surface where the Huntsman found several tents abandoned before the entrance. He took the largest tent and snapped his fingers. Plush furs began to pile up then after setting the Scroll down, used his free hand to place a bedroll upon the pile and he carefully laid his tired daughter upon the furs but not before using magic to transfigure her armor to a warm tunic and slacks. He tucked her into the bedroll then summoned forth a warm fire in the center of the massive tent. He didn’t have to worry about the smoke as this spell was his own design. It created warmth and light without the irritation that smoke normally brought to a mortal’s eyes and lungs. He kept a watchful eye over his cub as she slept occasionally shuddering from nightmares induced by what she had endured.

It was morning when Isilmé finally opened her eyes and sat up sorely. She narrowed her eyes in confusion when she discovered that her clothes were different. She didn’t recall changing or anything before passing out but suddenly her gaze landed on a figure hunched over besides the fire and after a quick sniff, her eyes suddenly lit up in recognition.

“Father?”

Hircine’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice and his golden eyes whipped towards her direction. His body moved instinctively to his daughter and he pulled her into a tight embrace, his clawed hand gently combing through her hair as he sighed in relief once more. The parent and child remained motionless for a while, the only sounds were the crackling fire before them and the whistling wind outside the tent.

He then moved away from her and started cooking up some soup for her. “I tried to get to you sooner, but Blackreach is a very strange place, even to us Daedra.” He started to say as he glanced at the Dragonborn, “The Atherium; glowing blue stones; down there radiate a strange energy that seems to disrupt our ability to manifest within the area.” He then handed her the bowl and she gratefully accepted it, then she looked at the Huntsman with a weak smile. She explained that she was just grateful to be out of there but Hircine wasn’t blind to the fact that she missed Sylph. He gently ran his hand over her head sympathetically. Once she gathered her strength, Isilmé collected the Scroll and her belongings then glanced at Hircine. “I have to return to the mountain.”

“I know,” He said sighing, a look of worrying on his face. “I can at least get you there.” He rose up from the ground and snapped his fingers, causing the fire to fizzle into nothing. As he left the tent, his daughter made sure she had everything packed and once she exited the tent, she found a familiar white stag. She gave a little giggle. “I know you prefer to use portals but i appreciate that your taking the more scenic route” She said gratefully and he nodded as he knelt down for her to climb on. He carried her down from the Great Lift with ease. He then felt her hug his neck tightly. “Thank you for finding me...” He heard her say and he chuckled back at her turning his head.

“Always.”

It took about a week and a half to get to Ivrastead where Isilmé stopped to resupply. She also collected some more dried meats for the Greybeards and the two continued on up the mountain. Arngeir was quite baffled and wary at the fact that the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, who had taken the form of Hunter, was with her, but once she explained what had happened in Blackreach, he understood. “Gather your strength Dragonborn, you’ll have quite the battle tomorrow.” Arngeir bowed as he left the two to get some rest. Hircine had closed his eyes in thought while listening to Isilmé sharpen her swords. He extended his hand for her to give him her bow. She tilted her head but did as he asked. She watched as his palm glow with a blood-red hue and the ebony bow bent and twisted as though it were made of clay. After a few moments, her bow had been changed to be shaped like the horns of a stag and the grip was carved with the faces of howling wolves.

“Get some rest, you have a long day tomorrow.” She nodded as she got settled in her bed and once she had fallen asleep, the Hunter left the chamber to explore a little. He didn’t need to sleep anyway. He couldn’t help but worry about his Cub. He knew she would need help. That was when he snapped his fingers in realization. He quickly vanished through a portal without anyone noticing.

The next morning, Isilmé was just finishing up dressing herself up in her armor when she heard Arngeir call from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder then turned her body around at the surprise before her. Behind him were her childhood friends; Khyeena and Usaeleí! The Falmer ran up and hugged them both in delight and bewilderment. When she questioned how they got her and how they knew she was here, the pale lizard chuckled slightly then elbowed Khajiit beside him as Arngeir left them be.

“We were both summoned by Hircine of all things. He said you were in need of help.”

“Xhu, that’s right.” Nodded Usaeleí who then added with an amused smirk, “He barged right into the Sanctuary too, scared most of the initiates. Even poor Nazir and he’s rarely afraid of anything.”

“I’m sorry he did that...” Isilmé said apologetically, “But it is really good to see you both again.”

Khyeena smirked as her tail twitched excited, “Well, it has been a while since we’ve all traveled together, so let’s go!”

As the trio approached the gate leading up to the summit, Isilmé noticed that snow storm acting as a barrier had returned. She Shouted Clear Skies and beckoned her friends to follow. The Cat and the Lizard had to cover their ears when they heard the crack of thunder leave the Dragonborn’s lips and they nearly stumbled when the ground beneath them rumbled. They were soon left in amazement when the wall of weather soon dissipated before their eyes. They stuck close to their friend as they continued up the mountain, staggering slightly when she had to use her Shout again. By then, Usaeleí was carrying Khyeena on his back and his usual calm demeanor was left frazzled and frayed. “By the Hist, I hope you’re done Isilmé because I don’t know how much longer Khyeena and I ca-” Hissed the Argonian whose words were suddenly lodged in his throat when they reached the final bend. “Uh...Khyeena, you might want to look at this.” The Khajiit twitched her ears to her name being called and she let out gasp of her own.

Paarthurnax was perched on his favorite spot on the Word Wall, contemplating, deep in his own thoughts when he noticed the Dragonborn and her friends. Isilmé chuckled as she urged her friends to follow her, reassuring them that the master of the Greybeards meant them no harm. Once the three of them were standing before the massive creature, Paarthurnax lowered his head, tilting it subtly to one side almost in a canine like fashion that the Falmer struggled to suppress a smirk. She found the gesture quite adorable. Khyeena and Usaeleí stood behind their friend, frozen in shock and awe as the Khajiit slid down the Argonian’s back to stand next to him. “ **Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin. I see you have brought a fahdon. A friend. Two it would seem.** ” The old dragon rumbled in delight.

“ _Geh._ This is Usaeleí and Khyeena.” Isilmé introduced them with a gesture to each, “They are my childhood friends. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“I can tell you three share a rather strong bond that transcends other life-long friendships.” Commented the dragon, his eyes studying the Argonian and the Khajiit with a warm light. Usaeleí’s mismatched eyes were intrigued by this majestic creature while Khyeena was still in a state of shock, marveling at Paarthurnax’s wise gaze. The dragon then shifted his gaze from the two and watched Isilmé present the Elder Scroll. He nodded understandingly and opened his maw to speak once more. “ **You have it. The Kel- the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh... qalos. Time shudders at its touch.** ” He then snorted a puff of warm air accompanied by the three could only deduce as a sigh of regret. “ **Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound.** ”

The Falmer nodded gravely as she wandered to the shimmering distortion. Her heart began to race with each step until it was pounding painfully in her chest as she stood in the center of the Time-Wound. She was about to open the Scroll when she heard Usaeleí and Khyeena call out to her in worry.

“Isilmé...” The Argonian gripped her shoulder with worry. “Whatever happens, keep your wits about you.”

“Yes, we don’t want to lose our friend.” She heard the Khajiit pipe in then, noting Khyeena’s drooping ears and tail; Usaeleí’s mismatched eyes furrowing into a concerned frown. The Dragonborn smiled serenely, stating that she would be just fine. She turned her gaze to Paarthurnax who lowered his head in a slow nod and she unrolled the Scroll. A soft whooshing sound, like ocean waves crashing along the shores echoed through her ears, her vision blurred spiraling and bled into an image from the ancient past. True, she was aware that what she was witnessing was an illusion and that she and her friends were still where she’d left them. Soon, the scent of smoke and blood permeated her senses. The shouts of angry voices and terrifying roars sung through her sensitive ears until the owners of the voices appeared within her view though their forms appeared ethereal.

Usaeleí and Khyeena had seen many things, both strange and horrifying in their lives but seeing their friend whom they considered a sister trapped between the present and the past had the Khajiit and Argonian on edge with fear. Isilmé’s eyes were wide open, flicking her gaze at whatever vision she was witnessing until she stepped back slightly as though trying to avoid something terrible or incredible. The lycandrake smelt mostly fear and made to rush to his friend’s side.

“ **Leave her be fahdon. She is in no danger.** ” Paarthurnax said, halting the Argonian with his booming voice. Usaeleí hissed through his teeth but remained in place when he felt Khyeena gently grip his shoulder, her crystal eyes giving him a reassuring gaze as Isilmé witnessed Gormalaith Golden-Hilt, Hakon One-Eye and Felldir the Old battle first one dragon then... The World-Eater himself. Alduin. The two saw the Dragonborn’s facial expression change from riveting excitement to intense concentration then a sad yet calm understanding. Her form became more corporeal and she blinked before gazing at her friends, a smile on her face. “I know Dragonrend now.” She stated while rolling up the Elder Scroll but her happiness was short-lived as the four of them heard the deafening roar of a very close-by dragon. They turned their heads towards the source to find a massive black dragon, whose wings carried him into view behind Paarthurnax.

Already the old dragon had his wings unfurled, ready to take flight and his fangs were borne with his claws digging into the Word Wall underneath him. Usaeleí drew his daggers as Khyeena extended her staff before her, a ward of protection shielding her and the Argonian. Isilmé drew _Dawnbreaker and Dragonbane_ as Alduin came into view and the Falmer felt her heart nearly stop at the sight. The World-Eater looked much different than when she had last seen him. His horns and spines were now glowing a blood-red hue that matched his crimson glare. The underside of his great wings a dark red as though he had dyed them with the blood of his victims. Alduin reared back his head and let loose another terrifying screech that even seem to shake Paarthurnax to his very soul. However, Isilmé felt her own dragon soul uncoil itself and before she knew it, she let out a deafening roar of her own back at the World-Eater in defiance.

“ ** _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor! My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin!_** ” Bellowed Alduin, his fiendishly deep voice making the insides of Khyeena, Usaeleí and Isilmé vibrate. He pulled his lips back in a snarl, “ ** _Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!_** ” The World-Eater flapped his great wings with more force, kicking up the powdered snow below, carrying himself higher up in to the air as he circled his opponents, taunting them. Isilmé glanced at her friends. Usaeleí pulled his scaly lips back in a wicked determined grin. Khyeena twirled her staff in anticipation. Neither were going to back down, nor would they leave the Dragonborn to fight alone. The Falmer glanced at the old dragon who nodded his head. Paarthurnax whipped his head back to the World-Eater, opened his maw and let loose his own world-shattering roar of defiance as he took to the skies after his brother.


	13. The Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé and her friends battle the World Eater but he escapes. Now she has to travel to Whiterun for aid from the Jarl.

“ **Lost funt! You are too late Zeymah!** ” Roared Paarthurnax before he glanced down at Isilmé and he added quickly, “ **Alok, Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend if you know it!** ” He then turned his attention back to Alduin who reared his head back, the crackling sound of ice forming around his great obsidian colored maw. Paarthurnax snarled as liquid fire leaked from his own jaws. The World-Eater's eyes flashed as he unleashed his icy breath upon which was met by Paarthurnax’s blistering flames in fierce clash! The Dragonborn and her allies stood there in shock and awe as they braced themselves for what was about to occur.

“ ** _FO... KRAH DIIN!!!_** ”

“ **YOL...TOOR SHUL!!!!** ”

The two Shouts slammed into each other causing the air to rupture violently. The hissing of ice being melted, the intense flames being extinguished... It was like Mundus was being torn asunder! Never before had mortals witnessed a battle between dragons. “ ** _Suleyki mulaag, Paarthurnax dii zeymah. My power has waxed while yours has waned. Aav uv dir. Join me or perish with hii joore fahdon!_** ” Alduin snarled as he dove forward, his talons drawn ready to rend the old one apart. Paarthurnax flapped his great wings, arching his body back as though he were doing a backflip and narrowly avoided his Alduin’s claws. “ **Unslaad hokoron! Never again!** ” Paarthurnax snarled back, his tail colliding with the World-Eater’s jaw stunning him slightly. Alduin quickly shook his head in anger and soared higher above Paarthurnax. The elder couldn’t move aside fast enough as the World-Eater swooped down, and sank his gleaming fangs into his neck. The two dragons began to plummet from the sky and Isilmé quickly sprang into action. “Paarthurnax! I’m sorry if this hits you too!” She quickly apologized as she inhaled deeply motioning for her friends to take cover. She turned her eyes towards the falling beasts and let loose her Shout. _Please don’t hit Paarthurnax! “JOOR... ZAH FRUL!!!”_

Isilmé’s eyes widen as a blue haze missed the old dragon. She watched it envelope the World-Eater's form and she warched as he released Paarthurnax who managed to reorient himself to land safely behind the Dragonborn panting heaving, blood dripping from his neck wound while Alduin seemed to struggle to remain airborne. The light seemed to be making the black beast’s wings feel heavy as he roared, screamed in frustration as he was forced to land. “How does it feel to be mortal, Alduin?” Snarled Isilmé coldly as she drew her swords and attacked, the blades slicing through the scales. She then watched as a white mass leapt onto the World-Eater's back. Usaeleí had taken on his werebeast form and had dug his own fangs and claws into the black dragon’s thick hide. When Alduin whipped his head to attack his new assailant, he was met with a lightning bolt to the face diverting his attention to the midnight colored Khajiit as her palms crackled with charged lightning.

Alduin swung his tail down at Khyeena who let out a hiss when she narrowly avoided the attack. The World-Eater shoved Isilmé roughly from his massive form grinning when her small body collided with the Word Wall then he reached over his shoulder, his sword like fangs sinking into Usaeleí’s abdomen and he tossed the lycandrake into the Khajiit. With the Dovahkiin’s allies incapacitated, Alduin turned his crimson gaze onto Isilmé who was back on her feet and her eyes were glowing in determination. He snapped his jaws at her only to reel back when she slashed upwards cutting his eye. She then unleashed an Unrelenting Force Shout upon him and managed to make him stagger on his side. She couldn’t help but noticed that the World-Eater looked just as exhausted as she was now. The two stared intently at each other, their breathing ragged as the blue haze around him faded. That was when she saw it. _His eyes..._ Isilmé thought _they look lost..._

“ ** _Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong... Pruzah ol aar. A fine slave you would have made._** ” Alduin growled, his head bowing in reluctant respect. However, this was not a true defeat, not even close. The Dragonborn was pulled from her thoughts when the World-Eater spoke once more. “ ** _But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here by you or anyone else!_** ”

“Alduin...” Isilmé responded softly.

“ ** _You cannot prevail against me! I will outlast you... mortal!_** ” He spat as he unfurled his wings and took to the skies, roaring loudly in the distance. Quickly snapping out of her daze, Isilmé rushed over to her friends where she saw Khyeena tending to Usaeleí’s wounds. Thankfully, they weren’t as bad as they looked and while the Khajiit tended to the Argonian, the Dragonborn took a look at Paarthurnax’s injuries. Surprisingly, his wounds had already healed and he extended his wing over her friends to shield them from the cold. After a while Paarthurnax nudged Isilmé silently requesting to speak with her. Khyeena had conjured up a portal back to High Hrothgar and she and Usaelei disappeared through saying they would meet up with her in the temple after she finished her meeting. Once her friends were gone and the portal closed, the Grand Master spoke softly, pulling the Dragonborn from her thoughts as she turned to face him.

“ **Lok krongrah. You truly have the Voice of a dovah. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.** ” He rumbled softly as he allowed her to wipe his scales clean of blood with some snow. She stared intently into the dragon’s eye stating that it really wasn’t a victory since the World-Eater escaped. She was correct, this wasn’t the final victory, but Paarthurnax reminded her that not even the heroes of old could defeat The Eldest in open battle. When she mentioned that she still had to find Alduin, Paarthurnax suggested trapping a dragon in Dragonsreach. He briefly added that the castle once held a dragon captive during Olaf One-Eye's reign in Whiterun. “ **A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hmm?** ” He wondered.

“Jarl Balgruuf might not agree.” Isilmé stated.

“ **Hmm, geh. But your su’um is strong. I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need.** ”

“Hah, you’re not the one doing the asking.” She huffed then turned to leave but stopped at the spot where Alduin had been mere moments ago and she stared at the impression. She shook her head then gave Paarthurnax a respective bow before sprinting back to the temple. She made her way to her friends where she saw Khyeena and Usaeleí, who had returned to normal, waiting for her. She debriefed them on what she needed to do next and she was glad that her friends offered to continue assisting her on her quest. Khyeena was also more than happy to create another portal that would transport the three to Whiterun safely. After bidding the Greybeards farewell, Isilmé disappeared along with her friends.

Whiterun:

After making a quick detour to Jorrvaskar and promptly being hugged and tackled by her Shield-Siblings, Isilmé caught up with Usaeleí and Khyeena at the doors of Dragonsreach. The trio strolled inside where the Dragonborn called out to the Jarl as he was just finishing his duties for the afternoon but was more than happy to listen to the requests of the Dragonborn and her allies but as she asked his aid in trapping a dragon in his castle, Jarl Balgruuf only stared. “I... forgive me. I think I misheard you. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace.” He repeated with a startled laugh, praying that this was merely a jest. However, as she repeated the request once more his brow furrowed. True, Isilmé hardly ever jested when it came to important business and she wouldn’t have asked if weren’t important but...

“I’m sorry, my Thane but I can’t do it.” He shook his head, “What you’re asking for is insane! Impossible even. You want me to let a dragon in the heart of our city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?”

“My Jarl,” Khyeena spoke up as the Nord turned his head from the Falmer to the Khajiit as she continued, “The threat is worse than you or anyone could comprehend.”

“Alduin has returned.” Usaeleí finished as he piped in. The Jarl of Whiterun felt his blood run cold at the mention of the World-Eater.

“The World-Eater himself? But that... doesn’t that mean the end of the world?” He stammered turning his head back to Isilmé. “How can we even fight him? It’s hopeless.”

“It’s only hopeless if we give up.” The Falmer closed her eyes then opened them, a fierce determined light glimmering within them as she answered the Nord. “I’m not going down without a fight my Jarl. But in order for me to defeat Alduin, we need your aid in this.”

Balgruuf wanted to help. He really did and he would but there was a problem that all four of them knew: The Civil War. Ulfric and General Tullius were both just waiting for the Jarl of Whiterun to make a mistake, to make a wrong move. They knew that neither side would sit idly by while a dragon was slaughtering his men and burning his city. The Jarl had a point. He couldn’t risk weakening Whiterun’s city while under enemy threat. That was when the Argonian, the Khajiit and the Falmer all looked at each other as though the same thought crossed their minds. What if Jarl Balgruuf didn’t have to worry about the war?

“What if you didn’t have to worry about them?” The three friends asked in sync. Now it was Jarl Balgruuf’s turn to go silent as he sat upon his throne. Isilmé could see a smile forming as he too began to conjure a plan of his own. He then lifted his head, his eyes focused on the Dragonborn as he spoke. “Hmm... Perhaps the Greybeards can assist in this manner. All Nords respect them and High Hrothgar is neutral ground. If you can convince them to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen.”

“Leave it to me, my Jarl.” Isilmé bowed.

As they departed from Dragonsreach, it was nearly dusk and Isilmé suggested that Usaeleí and Khyeena meet the Companions before they retired to the _Bannered Mare_ for the night. The Khajiit was more than excited to meet with the legendary group of warriors. Usaeleí chuckled. He was just as interested in meeting Isilmé’s Shield-Siblings. It was nice. Being with her friends and Shield-Siblings. The twins were busy laughing at the stories Khyeena regaled to them while Usaeleí talked with Aela and Athis about his time in Black Marsh. Sadly, the festivities had ended and the two left to rooms at the inn and Isilmé sat at the table with Aela and twins after everyone had retired for the evening.

“Your friends are quite impressive Harbinger.” She heard Farkas say as she drank her ale. She chuckled setting the mug down.

“Indeed. Usaeleí seems to be quite the warrior.” Agreed Aela as she refilled her own cup before adding, “He’d make a great Shield-Sibling.” The twins nodded in agreement then Vilkas piped in with a hearty laugh, “And Khyeena certainly knows how to tell tales and her dancing is exquisite. Even for a Cat.” The Falmer merely smiled as she glanced at the door. She knew very well how amazing her friends were. The three of the had been together for a long time, even though they each chose a different path in life. Regardless, they were always going to be friends. Soon enough, Isilmé herself retired to her chambers to rest. She’d meet up with Khyeena and Usaeleí at the stables before they returned to High Hrothgar.

The next morning, Isilmé quickly wandered to the stables where Usaeleí and Khyeena were waiting patiently for her and greeted them warmly. The Argonian was tending to his steed who also gave the Dragonborn a pleasant whinny. “Khyeena and you will be traveling by portal while I use Shadowmere to travel.” The lizard said reluctantly as he climbed on to the saddle. Apparently portal magic made the poor lycandrake feel ill. He then laughed, “Don’t worry, by the time you two arrive in the temple, I’ll be walking through the front door.” Before the Falmer could ever question what he meant, the black steed trotted through the shadows behind the stables and disappeared. She then decided to follow Khyeena as the Khajiit opened up a portal and the two stepped in. Sure enough, just as they stepped into the main chamber of High Hrothgar, the Argonian was already there leaning against the wall with a smug smirk on his maw.

They quickly sought out Arngeir who was sitting at a small table reading a book about Uriel Septim when he turned his old gaze to the Dragonborn in a curious fashion. After she had explained her situation, the Greybeard merely nodded his head in thought. “I see... The dragon will lead you to Alduin but without the Jarl’s help... but you misunderstand our authority, Isilmé. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs.” When Isilmé sagged her shoulders, he then added with a weak smile, “But as it stands, Paarthurnax has made his decision to help you and this is a road we shall walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change.” He then instructed Isilmé to deliver the message to Ulfric and General Tullius before he stood from his chair bowing respectfully and he returned to his meditation.

As the two left the temple, the trio thought it best to split up. Khyeena had better ties with Solitude and would deliver the message to the General Tullius while the Argonian headed to Windhelm with the Dragonborn. Isilmé mentioned that she needed to send a letter to Delphine and Esbern as they would need to be informed of the peace council. She had a hunch that she would need the Blades help in the council if things were to go smoothly. Khyeena smirked and whistled then extended her arm as a sandy owl dove towards them and perched itself on her arm. “Raz here can deliver the message for you and I’ll send a reply if Tullius agrees to join the peace council.” Once she wrote the letter, the owl clamped the envelope in his beak then took off and Khyeena waved as she teleported to Solitude. Usaeleí pulled Isilmé into the saddle behind him as he urged Shadowmere through the shadows.

The two friends emerged near Kynesgrove and Usaeleí noticed that his friend had gone incredibly quiet. She glanced at him when she felt his mismatched eyes on her and she sighed. He gave her a sympathetic gaze. She didn’t want to be back in Windhelm but she had no choice. From what she had told him on Solsthiem, she didn’t want to relive that nightmare again. By the Divines, she didn’t want to experience that horrible day again.

_Grandfather..._


	14. The Jarl of Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé returns to her home in Eastmarch to ask the Jarl of Windhelm to attend the peace treaty but a painful memory is about to resurface.

“You come here where you’re not wanted! You eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!”

Usaeleí and Isilmé had only just entered the city and almost immediately, that hateful statement was the first thing they heard. The Argonian pointed to two Nord men with a female Dunmer. However, they recognized the Dunmer as the Captain of a ship that often-frequented to Solsthiem. From the sound of it, the argument was getting more than a little heated and when one of the men threatened to ‘visit’ the Dunmer whom they were now accusing as an Imperial Spy, well the two friends glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. “Hey!!” Isilmé snapped angrily as she began cracking her knuckles and while her bellow had caught the attention of the other citizens it was clear none of them were going to intervene or get the guards. Rolff Stone-Fist turned towards the Falmer and glared at her. He glanced at his friend who was laughing at the Dragonborn and the Argonian.

“What do we have here?” He mocked with a laugh, “Two idiots siding with this grey-skin?”

“I suggest you call them by their proper names. They’re the _Dunmer,_ not grey-skin.” The Falmer growled as she stepped towards the large Nord, “Secondly, yes. We are siding with her. You got a problem?”

“I do actually. Ain’t you a Nord? Aren’t you ashamed!”

The Argonian and the Dragonborn stared at each other before bursting out laughing. “ _Niid._ I am not.” She snickered as she pulled her long hair back revealing her subtle elven ears. “I am an elf as well but regardless of _what_ I am, being human or mer, no matter their race should be treated with respect.”

“Besides,” Started Usaeleí as he two started cracking his knuckles and flashed a toothy grin, “It isn’t very proper for two men to prey upon a lone woman.”

The two Nords glowered at them then turned their aggression on the Argonian and Falmer. However, the fight was over before it began. Rolff was on his back with a black eye while his companion was currently trying to pry himself from a barrel. The Dunmer walked up to the two smiling gratefully. “Azura’s blessing! I was not expecting to see you two here. But thank you again for coming to my aid.” Wanting to return their good deed, the Captain beckoned them to follow her to the Gray-Quarter. That made Isilmé stop dead in her tracks. Since when did Windhelm have a ‘Gray-Quarter’?! But as they followed the woman, Isilmé recognized the Quarter. It was actually known as the Snow-Quarter but from what the two gathered, ever since the Red Mountain erupted, many of the Dunmer had escaped as refugees here and the Nords refused to come down here since the Aldmeri Dominion began digging their claws into Skyrim. The Dunmer had been trying to appeal to the Jarl but had no luck but Isilmé already had a plan forming and she offered to talk to Ulfric.

The next morning, while eating breakfast at _Candlehearth Hall_ , Isilmé heaved a heavy sigh that had Usaeleí looking at her in confusion. From the look on her face, it was evident to him that she was angry at what Windhelm had become since she had left. “This isn’t the Windhelm I lived in...” She growled clenching her fists tightly, “The Nords live in the Stone Quarter and those who aren’t live in the Gray Quarter... but it was called the Snow Quarter when I lived here.” The Argonian patted her shoulder quietly as he listened. It was clear she hated how the Elves and Argonians were being treated. He gave her a reassuring smile then they finished their meal and left the inn. The two were walking past the cemetery when Usaeleí and Isilmé caught the scent of freshly spilt blood and they stopped. Part of her just wanted to keep walking towards the Palace of Kings, but she strolled into the cemetery with the lycandrake trailing close behind her.

As they entered, they spotted a few Windhelm guards, a priest and a female civilian surrounding what looked like a dead body which was laying upon a tombstone. The female civilian was whimpering and shaking at the sight while Usaeleí studied the scene intently. Isilmé at first went rigid at the sight of the mangled body which was bringing back unpleasant memories to which she once again suppressed then approached the guards and questioned them as to what happened. “Another girl was killed.” The captain of the guard said with a heavy sigh. “This is... was Susaana from Candlehearth Hall.”

Isilmé turned her head back to the body swallowing hard. It was happening again. “You said this happened before?” She asked.

“She’s the third victim so far. It was the same thing as before with the other two: young girl, killed at night and the body torn up. Butchered.” Answered the guard as he scratched his head.

“How goes the investigation?” Usaeleí inquired, “Any leads at all?”

“Look Lizard, we’re stretched thin as it is with the war. We don’t have time for this,” The captain related to him in a disapproving voice, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not pleasant but it’s the truth.” Isilmé then turned towards the guards. She insisted she help, stating that she knew the Stone Quarter inside and out. When the guards belittled her about solving the case, Usaeleí bit back a smirk as she retorted stating that she didn’t see them making any progress. When the men tried to protest, the Falmer glared cold and said adamantly, “I will not have some cowardly murderer running amok in _my_ city! So, let's make this easy by having you tell me where to start.” Unable to sway her, the guards merely pointed her to Palace of Kings. She still needed permission from the Jarl to proceed, which in all honestly was fair.

Isilmé and Usaeleí entered the Palace of Kings with bated breath, their eyes scanning the expansive hall in anticipation. This place held a very personal meaning to Isilmé in more ways than one and it felt oddly refreshing to be back. They began walking to the dining table when they noticed the throne was empty. The two friends were then approached by a Nord named Jorleif, standing next to the throne and he offered his assistance. “Oh, I’m Isilmé and this is my friend Usaeleí. We’re here to deliver a message to the Jarl. It’s from the Greybeards.” She said bowing her head. Jorleif’s eyes widen at the mention of the Greybeards and he nodded his head towards a room on their left stating that the Jarl would be out in a moment after talking with his second-in-command. Meanwhile, Usaeleí whispered to her staying that he was going to the Gray Quarter to visit someone and that he’d return shortly. She nodded and took a seat at the dining table as the lycandrake wandered back outside.

“How long are you going to wait?”

“You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message?”

“If by message, you mean... shoving a sword through his gullet? Then yes.”

The last sentence left the Falmer in a state of shock as her ears twitched to voices behind her.

“Wouldn’t taking his city and leaving him a disgrace hold a more powerful statement?”

“So, we’re ready to start this war in earnest then?”

“Soon... soon.”

Isilmé knew without a doubt who the last voice was, how could she? It was Ulfric Stormcloak and it seemed that he and his second-in-command were planning on taking Whiterun but she heaved a sigh of relief as it seemed that they weren’t going to advance anytime soon. She kept her eyes focused on banners and stones of the palace all while listening to the two Nords talk. It brought back memories when her grandfather would bring her to the Palace of Kings to assist Ulfric’s father, the late Jarl Hoag in dealing with political affairs. She smiled fondly. Once when she was very young, Isilmé brought the late Jarl freshly picked snowberries and made him a crown from the branches and berries. Yes, Hoag was a much beloved Jarl in Windhelm even with the fearsome title of ‘Bear of Windhelm’.

“We’ve been soldiers for a long time, Galmar. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts.”

_Oh Talos, if that’s Galmar... then I may be in trouble for knocking out his brother... Oops..._

Galmar narrowed his eyes. “What’s left of Skyrim to wager?”

“They have families to think of...” The Jarl of Winhelm stated matter-of-fact as he closed his eyes.

“And how many of their children follow your banner?” Questioned Galmar as he gestured to the guards and himself, “ _We_ are their families.”

“Well put, friend.” Isilmé heard Ulfric hum but he didn’t seem pleased with the answer. “Tell me Galmar; why do you fight for me?” The Dragonborn turned her head towards the two, curious to hear the answer. Galmar was obviously appalled by the question and why his Jarl would even ask it in the first place. “I’d follow you to Oblivion and back! You know this already.” _That wasn’t what he was asking though..._ Isilmé thought quietly.

“Yes, but _why_ do you fight?” The Jarl asked as he left the conference room with Galmar in tow, “If not for me, then for what?” The two continued to converse completely unaware of the Falmer’s presence in the main hall. “But when you fight, you have to fight for something.” Ulfric stated as he walked up the steps to his throne but halted when Galmar stated that he wouldn’t let Elves dictate what paths men should follow and Isilmé was left speechless at what the Jarl was about to say next.

“It has nothing to do with the Elves, Galmar!” The Jarl snapped, his voice reminding her of a snarling bear, “I fight for the men I’ve held in my arms, dying on foreign soil! I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths!” She released her breath stunned that she was even holding her breath as he continued. “I fight for we few who did come! Only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces! I fight for the people impoverished to pay debts of an Empire too weak to rule themselves, yet are branded criminals for wanting to rule themselves!” The Dragonborn merely listened, her very being mesmerized with each word he spoke and she felt a smile form on her face. “I fight so that all the fighting I’ve done hasn’t been for nothing! I fight... because I must.” Ulfric sighed as he lowered himself onto the throne and pinched his brow. “When such a day where words will be enough and soldiers like us are no longer needed, I’ll gladly retire.”

“Just like Jarl Hoag before you.” Now, the two Northmen were completely aware of Isilmé’s presence. “He would’ve spoken just like that, which shows just how much of an impact he on all of us.” Her purple eyes locked onto the Jarl as she smiled soft, “I do hope you remember me, my Jarl.”

Galmar raised a suspicious brow glancing at Ulfric then asked in his hoarse voice, “You know this knife-eared wench?”

“Indeed, I do.” Ulfric smiled apologetically towards Isilmé. “This is the woman from Helgen, and the one who also saved my life.”

“ _You_ were the one who survived?” Galmar raised both brows this time. “Hah. Figures. Elves are slippery creatures. Is it true that you’re the Dragonborn?”

It was Isilmé’s turn to raise her brows in surprise. How could they have known about that when she had even traveled to Windhelm since her return to Skyrim? The Jarl of Windhelm beat her to the answer. “Word travels, Dragonborn though you are probably the only Elf to be gifted with the Voice of Dragons.” Ulfric leaned against his throne. “Now, you must be here for a reason, I’m assuming.” She nodded her head as she relayed the message on the Peace Council. She gave a brief detail on how she needed both sides to call a truce so she could handle the Dragon problem. Ulfric closed his eyes in thought. He had the upmost respect for the Greybeards and he agreed that the dragons had become more than a mere pest problem. “But the political situation is very delicate, Dragonborn.” The Jarl explained, “What does General Tullius have to say about that? Have you already talked to him?”

“I got a response from Khyeena: General Tullius will be attending the Peace Council, Isilmé” The two Nords glanced at the doors as the white Argonian strolled next to the Dragonborn then handed her a piece of parchment, and the Falmer chuckled. She then brushed aside a lock of her silvery hair and grinned. “There you have it, gentlemen.”

“Very well, I will attend. I’ll give him one more chance to quit with his tail between his legs.” Ulfric added in disgust before gesturing to the Dragonborn’s companion. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my childhood friend from Solsthiem, Usaeleí.” Isilmé introduced with a laugh then added in a solemn tone, “As for Tullius quitting? I sincerely doubt he will. I do, however, have another reason for coming here.” Ulfric cocked his head to the side then motioned for her to continue.

“The recent murders. They’re being ignored.”

“I am aware, Dragonborn. We are low on men to investigate and I'm not particularly pleased about it either.” He admitted.

Isilmé shook her head. “Not anymore you’re not. I wish to aid in the investigation. I can probably solve it quickly too, if I can.” Galmar scoffed as he folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t know why this Elf wanted to be involved to which Isilmé’s eyes purple eyes flashed angrily and she stared at the Nord intently. “Windhelm isn’t just _your_ home Galmar. I will not stand by while a murderer is running amok traumatizing _my_ city! I sincerely doubt my grandfather would be pleased if I stood by and did nothing. Nor would any of you want that either, right?”

It then hit Ulfric as he sat up straighter in his chair. “So, you’re a citizen of Windhelm.”

The Falmer looked at him. She nodded her head slightly as she swallowed. “ _Geh._ Yes, I am. I just haven’t been home in a long while.” She stated averting her gaze, “This isn’t what I wanted to come home to. This isn’t the Windhelm I remember. I will not let it stay like this either. Count on it, but only if you let me.” The corner of Ulfric’s mouth curled into a smile. _Spoken like a true Nord._ He thought then motioned for his steward to come forward. “You are now in charge of the investigation. Come to me or my steward, Jorleif, if you have anything.”

“Yes, my Jarl.”


	15. Blood on the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé investigates the murders but the Jarl of Windhelm investigates the Dragonborn as well

Coming in 3 days!


End file.
